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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



COMFORT 



By MRS. HERRICK JOHNSON. 







NEW AND ENLARGED EDITION. 




NEW YORK: 
ANSON D. F. RANDOLPH & COMPANY, 

38 WEST TWENTY-THIRD STREET. 



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COPYRIGHT, 1888, BY 
ANSON D. F. RANDLOPH & COMPANY. 



EDWARD O. JENKINS' SONS, 

Printers and Electrotypers^ 

20 NORTH WILLIAM ST., NEW YORK. 



V5 



To the toilers and sufferers, on the way to 
the "better country" may these words come 
with something of help and healing. 



CONTENTS. 



Why, r . . 9 

The Voice in the Twilight, 13 

The Heavenly Secret, 17 

God's Best, 21 

Two Cities, 26 

His Name, 2- 

Asleep, 34 

In Vision, 36 

Out of the Shadow, 40 

" Faultless," 43 

In the Night, 47 

A Memory, 49 

"Papa's Little Girl," 55 

Parting, 57 

Sunset, 60 

At the River, 64 

"And there was Light," 67 

Db Profundis, 69 

(5) 



73 



6 CONTENTS. 

A Christmas Memory, 

Reward, -8 

Life— A Problem, 83 

Alone, 84 

" Thine Eyes shall see the King in His Beauty," 86 

Two Angels, 89 

At School, gi 

On the Bridge, g^ 

"Peace," gj 

Entered into Rest, gg 

A New Commandment, 102 

The Old Graveyard, 104 

Fulfilment, 109 

On the Sea, m 

At the Gate, 113 

"Casting all your Care upon Him," . . .117 

MISCELLANEOUS. 

Epithalamium— A " Silver Wedding," . . .127 
Epithalamium— A "Golden Wedding," . . .131 
In the Name of our God we will set up our 

Banners, 134 

The Bride's Outfit, 136 

The Indian's Lament, 142 

Our Bethlehem, 146 

The Last Offering, 150 

The Message to the Seven Churches, . . .155 

Hymn, 165 

The Visit of the Magi, . . . . . .167 



CONTENTS. 7 

Flower-Walls, 172 

To MY Bible-Class, 174 

Consecration, 177 

Only for One, 180 

Maying, 183 

Revery, 187 



COMFORT. 



WHY. 

TWO friends held converse glad, of life and 
work, 
Beside the way. One said, with tender smile. 
And tone that sweet belied the caustic words, 
"But if the world should frown, or worse, 

should smile 
At your poor songs, and throw at you in scorn 
That saying of your poet best-beloved. 
Your English-Tuscan singer, singing late 
In Italy's fair Florence, toward the sea — 
Those words about the swallows and the larks 
All singing at the dawn — you know the place 
I mean — 'tis in your dear ' Aurora,' there." 

Whereat, uplifting eyes of sweetest calm. 
The other, smiling too, thus made reply : 
" Ah, yes, I know the words by heart. Full oft 

(9) 



lo rvi/Y. 

I've said them o'er : ' Alas, near all the birds 
Will sing at dawn, and yet we do not take 
The chaffering swallow for the holy lark.' 
She truly sung — though swallows are God's 

birds. 
And haply have some use, or cheer some 

hearts. 
For me, my songs came not at dawn, but came 
In later hour to fill a vacant space 
When, for awhile, the lark's bright morning 

praise 
Hath ceased, and nightingales have not begun 
Their wondrous trills of luscious melody. 

I soar not with the holy lark, I know. 
Through Heaven's far blue, back-dropping 

from the heights, 
Divinest notes of song, but in the vales 
Deep down and still, where robins and the wrens 
Full-throated praise, I sit and sing obscure, 
With scanter largess for the few 
Who care or need. I give to them such notes 
As God gives me, and if, one day, some heart 
Shall say to me, ' Your low song comforted, 



IVI/Y. II 

Or helpe.I, or made me better, such or such 
A time, when sorrow's weig.it pressed hard 

and cold, 
Or dark discouragement o'ershadowed me, 
Or some temptation lured me from the good,' 
Why, then, God gives to me, enfolded there, 
My whole ambition's height — to simply be 
To fellow-pilgrims but the trembling chord 
Wherewith He wakes the music of His songs 
Of consolation, in their nights of need — 
So winning, too, perhaps, the love-look 
From his eyes, the noblest and most precious 

crown 
His children wear." 

" I/zs love-look," murmured low 
The first voice, then — "Ah, that were worth 

all loss. 
And that once gained, no song of nightingale 
Or holy lark could higher reach. Sing, then, 
Dear happy bird, all songs that fill your heart, 
Content, indeed, if God's own voice take up 
Your trembling notes, and sing them glad and 

clear, 
To burdened souls, or if through Heaven '« 

bright clash 



12 IVJIV. 

Of harmonies, His ear detect the thrill 
Of heart-swept strings, tuned but for Him, 
And hear that you have sung the part He set 
You, as He meant." 



THE VOICE IN THE TWILIGHT. 

I WAS sitting alone towards the twilight, 
With spirit troubled and vexed, 
With thoughts that were morbid and gloomy, 
And faith that was sadly perplexed. 

Some homely work I was doing 
For the child of my love and care, 

Some stitches half wearily setting 
In the endless need of repair. 

But my thoughts were about the "building," 
The work some day to be tried, 

When only the gold and the silver, 
And the precious stones, should abide. 

And recalling my own poor efforts. 
The wretched work I had done, 

And, even when trying most truly, 
The meagre success I had won : 

(13) 



14 THE VOICE IN THE TWILIGHT. 

" It is nothing but ' wood, hay and stubble/ 

I said ; " 'tis fit only to burn ; 
When He asks for the gold He entrusted, 

No gain shall I have to return." 

" And T have so longed to serve Him, 
And sometimes I know I have tried ; 

But I'm sure when He sees suck building, 
He will never let it abide." 

Just then, looking over the garment, 
Lest a rent were remaining behind. 

My eye caught an odd little bungle 
Of mending and patch-work combined. 

My heart grew suddenly tender. 
And something blinded my eyes. 

With one of those sweet intuitions 
That oftentimes make us so wise. 

Dear child ! She wanted to help me, 
I knew 'twas the best she could do ; 

But oh, what a botch she had made it — 
The gray mismatching the blue ! 



THE VOICE IN THE TWILIGHT. 15 

And yet — can you understand it ? — 

With a tender smile and a tear. 
And a half-compassionate yearning, 

I felt she had grown more dear. 

Then a sweet voice broke the silence, 

And the dear Lord said to me, 
" Art thou tenderer for the little child 

Than I am tender for thee ? " 

Then straightway I knew His meaning. 

So full of compassion and love, 
And my faith came back to its Refuge 

Like the glad returning dove. 

For I thought, when the Master-Builder 
Comes down His temple to view. 

To see what rents must be mended 
And what must be builded anew : 

Perhaps as He looks o'er the building 
He will bring my work to the light. 

And seeing the marring and bungling. 
And how far it all is from right. 



1 6 THE VOICE IN THE TWILIGHT, 

He will feel as I felt for my darling, 
And will say, as I said for her, 

" Dear child ! She wanted to help me. 
And love for me was the spur. 

" So, for the pure love that is in it. 
The work shall seem perfect as mine, 

And because it was willing service, 
I will crown it with plaudit divine." 

Then close, in the deepening twilight 
I seemed to be clasping a hand. 

And to feel a great love constraining me. 
Stronger than any command. 

Then I knew by the thrill of sweetness 
'Twas the hand of the Blessed One, 

That would tenderly guide and hold me 
Till all the labor was done. 

So my thoughts are nevermore gloomy. 

My faith no longer is dim. 
But my heart is strong and restful. 

And mine eyes are unto Him. 



THE HEAVENLY SECRET. 

I PONDER oft the wondrous things 
On Patmos' isle in vision shown— 
The trumpet voice, the seven stars. 

The lamps of fire before the throne ; 
The book which Judah's Lion loosed. 

With awful secrets, seal by seal. 
The golden vials full of wrath. 
The seven thunders' fearful peal : 

With here and there a triumph note,— 

The song of Moses and the Lamb, 
The multitude before the throne. 

With blood-washed robe and crown and 
palm ; 
And ending all, the City fair, 

Spread out like sunlight far and wide, 
With " Whosoever will, may come," 

For last sweet words sent down the tide. 
(17) 



1 8 THE HE A VENL Y SECRET. 

But ever, 'mid these mysteries, 

Sublime, prophetic, tender, grand, 
One precious promise fills my heart, 

And binds the book with golden band ; 
"To him that overcometh " — this 

The sweep the benediction takes — 
If Sardis, Smyrna, Pergamos, 

Your church, or mine, no difference makes. 

One sole condition binds the gift. 

Though struggle sore behind it lie ; 
A faith, a life that overcomes — 

A warfare unto victory. 
And then, reward ! A pure white stone, 

And in the stone, a secret name, — 
A strange new name, and no two stones 

Shall bear inscription quite the same. 

For surely — thus my musing runs — 
Since 'tis no name already known, 

It cannot be some name of Christ, 
Both loved and worn by all His own ; 

For thus the sacred record reads, 
" No man may know it, saving he 



THE HE A VENL Y SECRE T. j 9 

Who shall receive it," — his alone 
This new and blessed name shall be. 

This is the thought that thrills me through. 

We have a secret — God and 1 1 
He keeps it now, but unto me 

He will reveal it by and by. 
And while I wait, my heart still holds 

Some fancy beautiful and fair 
Of what that glad surprise will be, 

When He His thought with me shall share. 

Perhaps some precious name by which 

He knows me in His heart of love. 
Because of special service given, 

Or special grace I've learned to prove ; 
As wrestling Jacob after prayer 

Had seal of victory on him set, 
In that new name which crowned his seed. 

And clings to all God's people yet. 

And Mary with her broken box 

Of fragrance for the burial-day — 
I wonder in what heavenly name, 

Christ keeps that memory hid away ? 



20 THE HE A VENL Y SECRE T, 

Or that poor lowly child of His, 
Who of her want gave all she had — 

I wonder what sweet word up there 
Translates that deed, to make her glad? 

Or it may be the precious stone. 

Like rich intaglio, given to each. 
Of Christ shall some impression hold. 

Expressing more than any speech ; 
How in some great emergent hour. 

When heart and flesh were failing fast, 
He showed us such or such a face. 

Till all the fear was overpast. 

Or once in some communion hour 

We went with Him up Tabor's steep. 
And that transfigured Face, for us 

Forevermore the stone will keep. 
And thus I muse : I know not what 

The secret is — yet still the same, 
His thought of me, or mine of Him, 

Will sweeter be in that new name I 



GOD'S BEST. 

I PROMISED to tell all their fortunes. 
As they gathered around me in glee— 
My half-dozen, fun-loving maidens, 
Grouped prettily under the tree. 

"Oh, will you, you dearest old Gipsey?" 
The children all cried in a breath ; 

•♦ Do give us all something so splendid : 
Long life, and — translation, not death." 

"Tell Helen's the last," said dear Lily, 
" For the best, you know, never comes first 

" Tell mine, then, at once," rippled Minnie, 
" And let us have done with the worst I 

•* Give Josie a Count or a Baron, 
Give Emma a castle in Spain ; 
And to Lily, so thoughtful for others. 
Give gold like a torrent of rain. 

(21) 



22 GOnS BEST, 

" Give May a strange lamp like Aladdin's, 
And to Helen — why, give what you will 
For with her, 'tis according to proverb — 
* All's grist that comes to her mill.' " 

" I don't want a Baron," quoth Josie, 
"An artist is more to my mind." 

"And a castle in Spain," pouted Emma, 
" Is something that no one can find." 

"And if /had the gold," echoed Lily, 
" I might be a miser, you know ; " 

"While Aladdin's old lamp," chimed the May 
bell, 
" Might land me in far Jericho." 

" And always to be at my grinding, 

Though the grist were all of the best. 
Is something not quite to my fancy," 
Said Helen, "if truth were confesf." 

"See now," said gay Minnie, "this wonder — 
People never will like what they get ; 
And they never can get what they like either, 
And so they just worry and fret." 



GOD'S BEST. 23 



A peal of the merriest laughter 
At this rang out through the trees. 

And echoing down through the wood's green 
aisle, 
Was borne away on the breeze. 

I gazed at the glowing young faces. 
In a silence half born of my fears, 

As I wondered what each would inherit 
In the misty and far-away years. 

Then giving the word to my wishes, 
That beautiful morning in June 

I set to each life's happy poem 
A perfect and rhythmical tune. 

Some joy that a mortal might covet 

Lay fair in the future of each ; 
While some magic should give them th« 
wisdom 

That experience only can teach. 

But my very own darling was Helen, 

And while I asked gifts for the rest. 
My heart whispered earnestly always, 
" Dear Father, give her of Thy best. 



24 GOnS BEST, 

No one ol sarth's glorious prizes. 
But that, did she choose to possess. 

Lay clear in the range of my vision, 
Through all the struggle and stress. 

The artist's ideals of beauty. 
The poet's possession of song, 

The dreams of the sculptor embodied. 
Or the joys that to science belong. 

Whatever of grace or of glory 
Her effort might strive to attain, 

I fondly and foolishly fancied 
The struggle could not be in vain. 

And now as I noted the shadows 
That played over each eager face, 

I saw that the broad full sunlight 
Fell over my darling's place. 

Then I smiled in my heart when I saw it. 
And turning aside from the rest, 

I said, " Thus, dear Lord, would I have it- 
So ever give her Thy best." 



GOnS BEST. 2% 

I knew not what I was asking. 

Or I surely, surely had known 
That no life has only broad sunlight, 

Save life within sight of God's throne. 

But the sweet day passed, and the night 
came, 

When He put my love to the test ; 
And somewhere up there 'mid the lilies, 

She lies like a bud on His breast. 

And what," do you ask, " of the others — 

Lily, and May, and the rest ? " 
Ah, well, they all have their treasures. 

But none, like my Helen, God's best I 



TWO CITIES. 

ONE shines from out the sacred page^ 
Aglow with solemn splendor. 
Illumed with every radiant tint 

That art divine can render. 
Built far upon the dazzling heights 

No foot may scale unheeding, 

It flames its glorj^ down the years. 

Nor sun nor temple needing. 

Kings bring their triumph into it. 

And nations saved, their glory, 
While thousand times ten thousand sing 

Its glad and wondrous story. 
They sing a joyous marriage-song, 

For lo ! this city golden 
Is like a bride with jewels girt. 

With kingly love enfolden. 

The King of kings her brow doth crown 
With love's most royal crowning ; 

(26) 



TWO CITIES. 27 

His gracious welcome to the feast 
The seraphs' praises drowning. 

O far bright city of my dream ! 
To see thy marriage splendor, 

With passion would my longing heart, 
Its life, its all, surrender. 

How shall I win the welcome sweet ? 

How gain the wedding whiteness ? 
O guarded gates, where is the key 

Unlocking all your brightness ? 
Peace, pleading heart ! " an angel saith ; 

Wait not at yon far portal — 
This city is but type of that 

Which is to be immortal. 

Behold upon the land and sea. 

In every tribe and nation. 
Glad, busy hands are fashioning 

The stones for its foundation. 
One buildeth here, another there. 

Each bringeth precious treasure ; 
Some bear the load, some place the stones, 

Each working in his measure. 



2S TWO CITIES. 

Thus is the City walled about 

With wall of polished jasper, 
While precious jewels, set in gold, 

Like crowns of light enclasp her. 
This is the pure and perfect Bride 

The King most fitly seeketh — 
A Church all glorious within. 

Whose heart her love bespeaketh. 

And this the King's most gracious will : 

All to the feast are bidden 
Who toward this glory bear a part. 

However small or hidden. 
Go, asking heart, take then thy place, 

Fill thine appointed measure ; 
Bring gift of silver or of gold, 

Or aught of richest treasure. 

Or bring but myrrh or precious spice. 

Or for this Bride's adorning. 
Bring even one bright glowing thread. 

No smallest offering scorning. 
So shalt thou hear the Bridegroom's call, 

So in His thought be holden. 
When He His Church shall wed — the true 

" Jerusalem the Golden 1 " 



HIS NAME. 

*' ""VT'AMES name thee not ! " How many 

-^^ years have died 

Since first Bettina wrote the glowing words 
For Goethe's careless, unresponsive heart. 
How long ago they dropped into the soil 
Of my own childish, scarcely wakened thought. 
The book — "Bettina's Letters" — passed and 

perished 
Out of sight and mind. One fairest seed 
Alone was left within its living cell 
To grow up pulse by pulse, each graver year, 
From good to better use, from height to height. 

First, to the dearest friend my happy days 
Of school-life knew, I said with fervent voice, 
" * Names name thee not,' nor tell of all thou 

art 
To me." Strange name she bore, which suit- 
ed well 
The subtle charm she wove about my heart. 

C29) 



30 HIS NAME. 

Named Amuletta,* like an amulet, indeed, 
About my love and life, she hung her love. 
Her very self. And school-girl-wise, pet names 
We had, which sought the depths and heights 

for words 
In which to give our love expression meet ; 
Yet oft, when all was done, unsatisfied 
I looked into the eyes of Heaven's own blue, 
And said," Beloved one,* names name thee not.' " 

But tides of time ebbed on and flowed again. 
Our school-days passed, and Amuletta went 
Away to Heaven, and came a day I looked 
Yet once again, with stronger, higher love. 
In eyes whose sweetest light shone but for me. 
And said — with dearest names thrown in be- 
tween — 
" * Names name thee not,' nor tell of all thou 

art 
To me." And this seemed love's last, perfect 
word. 



* Amuletta Howard Kinney. Died in 1862 at Mott Ha- 
ven, N. Y. 



HIS NAME. 31 

So rose and fell the year's swift stream again, 
And as it ran, the perfect words revealed 
Perpetually, a new and higher thought ; 
Each year they grew in sacredness and depth, 
As love, in highest and divinest mould, 
Took firmer, deeper place within my soul. 
Until at last, I said them soft and low, 
In secret " silent chapel of my heart " — 
I said them under breath, in reverent hush 
Of prayer to One alone, and evermore 
I keep them close and holy unto Him. 
Names name Him not to me. No name can 

reach 
The height and depth, the length and breadth, 

of love 
All wonderful, unspeakable, that lives 
In Him, the Father's perfect Word to man. 



Yet many names, most tender and most sweet. 
He hath, which down the path of Holy Writ, 
His fingers dropped like flowers with fragrant 

breath 
Pervading all the Church's heart and life. 



32 HIS NAME. 

Soft comfort-names, that come and go, through 

clouds 
Of weariness and gloom — our Refuge, Strength, 
Our Presence-angel, Shepherd, Saviour, Rest. 

Low sorrow-names, that softly wander 

In and out through griefs too deep to speak— 

the Man 
Of Sorrows, One with grief acquainted well. 
Our Burden-bearer, our atoning Lamb. 

Grand glory-names, that roll like loftiest strain 
Of song, through loftiest mood — Immanuel, 
King of kings, Jehovah, Prince of Peace, 
Eternal One who sits in majesty 
Upon earth's circle, while the nations count 
But as the small dust in the balances. 

And tender household-names, that link the life 
Of every day's most common need, to Hfe 
Beside the Throne — our Father pitiful. 
Our elder Brother, and the Friend most near. 

And sweetest names of love that fill the soul 
In hours of holiest fellowship with Him — 



HIS NAME. 33 

Beloved, Chief among ten thousand, 
Altogether Lovely, Sharon's wondrous Rose, 
And that best, crowning name— our Jestis — 

name 
That like a perfect chord, holds every name 
And tone of love, complete within itself. 

Ah, yes — most precious names — I count 
Them o'er and o'er, as miser doth his hoard 
Of costliest gems, and yet, when all is done. 
To dead Bettina's deep and soulful words, 
I turn again, and say in tenderest hush, 
On bended knee, " Names name thee not ! " 



ASLEEP. 

WITH curls in golden clusters. 
And soft, half-opened eyes, 
The baby lay as one entranced 
By some divine surprise. 



While fragrant breathed about her. 
Sweet, white, half-opened buds — 

The hands rose-clasped, the little robe 
Bound with the snowy studs. 

O blessed sleep of childhood, 

So far from eyes of mine," 
One said. " Would God such slumber 

Might crown my head as thine I '* 

But lo ! as we drew nearer, 

Deep wonder caught the breath — 

The couch was a burial-casket, 
And the sleep was the sleep of death ! 
(34) 



ASLEEP. 35 

And still one said, " Blest childhood ! 

Thrice-hallowed, happy sleep ! 
O wondrous consummation, 

For which I wait and weep I ** 

There fell a voice in answer : 
" The baby sleeps, indeed ; 
" Yet wrought its baby-mission. 
Fulfilling all its need. 

" So thou, dear heart, be patient, 
Give Christ thy griefs to keep. 
And learn that so. He giveth 
To His bCiO\ ed, sleep I " 



IN VISION. 

ANNUNCIATION. 

AN angel stood at night within the door. 
Light from the inner glory on his face : 
' A message from the King," he said, " for thou 
Art called and chosen, with the hosts to march, 
That follow him to victory or to death. 
Behold the shield of promise He hath sent : 
' They shall have great reward who follow me ; 
Right royally shall they be robed and crowned, 
Nor shall they be without a wondrous sign 
Whereby shall all men know that they are 

mine.' 
Thus art thou chosen with His hosts to march. 
Arise and follow where His banner leads." 

RENUNCIATION. 

Then straight responsive to the heavenly call, 
My soul made answer in its fervent joy : 
*' I lay all down before this glorious King — 
A.11 life's dear sanctities and sweetest hopes, 
(36) 



IN^ VISION, 37 

All mind, all holy places of the heart ; 
And in that heart, whatever other name 
Hath reigned supreme, I tear the leaf out here^ 
And leave the page unsoiled and blank for Him. 
I keep not back one thing, nor hold one power 
Mine own. Henceforth I march by day and 

night. 
Close in the footsteps of this conquering King, 
Nor turn aside for any joy, save that 
He giveth me." 

FULFILLMENT. 

The King's great army marcheth ever on. 

For me — my strength is well-nigh spent 
though through 

Long days and nights of heat and cold I went 

Though close I held that glorious promise- 
shield, 

And wondered why fulfillment never came. 

And now, I lie alone — the troops pass by, 

The King himself hath deigned no look, no 
word; 

What have I now, of all He promised me ? 

The royal robe is garment rough, of pain. 



38 IN VISION, 

The wondrous sign is but a blood-stained- cros3f 
The crown He gave, was but a crown of thorns, 
And thus I die alone, without my King. 
My King ! Ah, there is where the cruel pain 
Hurts most, for Him I love beyond compare, 
And for one smile from that majestic face, 
I'd count all loss but gain, and march once 

more 
Through all these days and nights of heat and 

cold 
Content to die at last of but one kiss 
From that most perfect mouth upon my lips. 

Ah, what is this ? Those tender lips touch 

mine ! 
My heart, of rapture dies, beneath that smile ! 
Content, content, my whole reward is won ! 

AT LAST. 
" At last,'* you say ? Ah, no, not last — 'tis first, 
'Tis but beginning — this glad triumphant life 
On the celestial hills ! what time my soul 
Went up from earth, with that divinest kiss 
Close folded on my lips, that wondrous smile 



IN VISION. 39 

Far-reaching to my inmost heart of love, 
The angel stood again with message sweet — 
"The King hath said thy name before the 

throne, 
Now is the promise near and sure reward, 
Now take thy robe, thy crown, thy holy sign." 
At last ? Ah, no ; but first and evermore 
I wear this fair white linen of the saints. 
His name upon my forehead for a sign. 
My crowiv a royal diadem of stars ! 
Yet here as there, I give my all to Him, 
My King, and in renunciation glad, 
I cast my crown, my soul, at His dear feet I 



OUT OF THE SHADOW. 

ALL through the day, the heavy tumult 
stirred, 
And noises loud and angry round me 
rolled ; 
A lingering thunder, muttering wrath and 
pain, 
Seemed all the happy heights in night to 
fold. 

Strive as I might, the hills of faith and hope 
Grew darker, higher, harder still to climb 

Eternity's far outlook and unfathomed deeps, 
Seemed bounded by the littleness of Time. 

Then close around me. Doubt, his blackness 
drew. 
While strong Apollyon threw his fiery 
darts — 
Alas, where was my armor, strong and true. 
That he could reach my very heart ol 
hearts I 
(40) 



OUT OF THE SHADOW. 41 

With poison tongue was every arrow tip- 
ped — 

" He saith " — " He saith " — " but oh He 
doeth not," 
'* He will not give good gifts, as He hath 
said " — 

"His promised mercy He hath clean for- 
got." 

" No mother would say * nay * to any child 
Who lifted up such longing, pleading cry, 
And yet — He is more ready, doth He say ? 
Ah, no — no mother would, like Him, deny." 

Thus rained the fiery storm upon my soul. 
Each dart a blinding lance through Doubt's 
black night, 
Till stricken, bruised, and wounded nigh to 
death, 
I yielded in despair th' unequal fight. 

Then in Despair's yet blacker night than 
Doubt's, 
Left there for dead by Doubt and Hell's 
ally, 



|2 OUT OF THE SHADOW, 

He whom I had reviled came unto me, 
With loving touch His healing to apply. 

But there Despair and Shame 'twixt Him 
and me, 
Joined hands to keep from me that sweet- 
est balm, 
Yet o'er their height looked down His tender 
eyes. 
And held me with their deep, divinest 
calm. 

So once those eyes had turned in priestly hall, 
Past all the mocking throng to one alone ; 

So broke my heart with love's sweet sad re- 
proach. 
So folded He again His strayed — His own 1 



•'FAULTLESS." 

Jude, ver. 24. 

«* TjlAULTLESS in His glory's presence ! 
J- All the soul within me stirred, 
All my heart reached up to heaven 
At the wonder of that word. 

" Able to present me faultless ? 

Lord, forgive my doubt," I cried ; 
" Thou didst once, to loving doubt, show 

Hands and feet and riven side. 

Oh, for me, build up some ladder. 
Bright with golden round on round. 

That my hope this word may compass. 
Reaching Faith's high vantage-ground I 

Praying thus, behold, my ladder. 

Reaching unto perfect day, 
Grew from out a simple story 

Dropped by some one in the way, 
(43) 



44 ''faultless:* 

Once a queen — so ran the story — 
Seeking far for something new. 

Found it in a mill, where, strangely. 
Naught but rags repaid her view. 

Rags from out the very gutters. 

Rags of every shape and hue. 
While the squalid children, picking. 

Seemed but rags from hair to shoe. 

* What then," rang her eager question, 

" Can you do with things so vile ? " 

" Mould them into perfect whiteness," 

Said the master with a smile. 

Whiteness ? " quoth the queen, half-doubting 
" But these reddest, crimson dyes — 
Surely naught can ever whiten 
These to fitness in your eyes ? * 

Yes," he said, " though these are colors 

Hardest to remove of all. 
Still I have the power to make them 

Like the snowflake in its fall." 



" faultless:' ^^ 

Through my heart the words so simple 
Throbbed with echo in and out ; 
*• Crimson " — " scarlet " — '* white as snow 
flake "— 
Can this man ? and can God not f 

Now upon a day thereafter, 
(Thus the tale went on at will,) 

To the queen there came a present 
From the master at the mill. 

Fold on fold of fairest texture. 

Lay the paper, purest white ; 
On each sheet there gleamed the letters 

Of her name in golden light. 

" Precious lesson," wrote the master, 
" Hath my mill thus given me. 
Showing how our Christ can gather 
Vilest hearts from land or sea ; 

* In some heavenly alembic, 

Snowy white from crimson bring. 
Stamp his name on each, and bear them 
To the palace of the King." 



46 " faultless:* 

Oh, what wondrous vision wrapped me ! 

Heaven's gates seemed open wide. 
Even / stood clear and faultless. 

Close beneath the pierced side. 

Faultless in His glory's presence I 
Faultless in that dazzling light ! 

Christ's own love, nr ajestic, tender. 
Made my crimson snowy white ! 



IN THE NIGHT. 

I. 
T" OW in the darkness, bleeding and crushed 
-■— ^ I lie in Thy sovereign hand ; 
Almost my very heart's beating is hushed. 
Waiting Thy dreadful command. 

Shall it be life ? Oh, can it be death ? 

Trembling in anguish, I pray, 
Take, O my God, whatsoever Thou wilt. 

But take not this one life away. 

Now, as of old, let the shadow go back 

On its beautiful dial to-night ; 
Shut Thou the portals, that swinging so wide, 

Would sweep it away from my sight. 

Surely, dear Lord, it is nothing to Thee — 
This one human life Thou canst spare ; 

And it is so much, so much unto me — 
O give me my passionate prayer ! - 
(47) 



48 IN THE NIGHT. 

Slowly — ah, Heaven ! the gates seem to movet 
Now hither, now thither they sway ; 

Watching, and fearing, and weeping, I lie, 
Too sick with my anguish to pray. 

Father, my Father, forgive my wild cry — 

I know not what I have said ! 
The portals stand wide, in the terrible night, 

And I am alone with my dead I 

II. 

Ah, wonderful ! wonderful ! Here in the night 
One giveth me songs for my tears — 

One saith, "/am here in the valley with thee; 
/ carry thy griefs and thy fears." 

Ah, wonderful! wonderful I Here on His 
breast, 

Like John, the beloved, I lie — 
My passionate prayer sinks sobbing, to rest— 

'Tis Jesus, to live or to die. 

Thy sweet human life is over — 'tis well- 
It was Jesus for thee and for me I 

r linger below, and still it is well. 
It is Jesus for me ap-i fbr thee 1 



A MEMORY. 

«< npHE same old house," do you call it? 
-■- Yet it's fifteen years, you say, 
Since you stepped across its threshold — 
So long you have been away. 

But those years are such a gulf, dear ; 

And a house, like a face, may change ; 
If you look at this one intently. 

It will seem half-new and strange. 

The oriel- window is darkened, 

The sunny side-porch is still. 
And you miss the old-time laughtei' 

That once rung over the hill. 

Ah, now you ask for the voices. 
Recalling them name by name ; 
"Where then," you say, "is Great- Heart Phil? 
And is stapegracfe Ned the same ? 



50 A MEMORY, 

** And fair, sweet, serious Helen, 
Queen Alice, and loving May ? 
Why, baby Maud is a woman grown, 
I suppose, since I went away ? " 

Ah, me, I will tell you the story ; 

It seems so long ago 
That all this bright tide vanished 

Out of life's ebb and flow. 

And the house has stood in its silence 

So long, apart from the strife, 
Like a dim, sweet sanctuary, 

Full of an unseen life. 

It was only the year that you left us, 
Queen Alice foijook her throne ; 

Though she reigned in so many loving heaits, 
She must go at last alone. 

Then Great-Heart Phil — did you never hear 
Of the cruel watery strife ? 
' He saved his friend, but the icy waves 
Closed over his awn brave life. 



A MEMORY. J5I 

Then sweet-eyed, thoughtful Helen, 
Who had leaned on the manly strength, 

Though she tried to five for the others, 
Drooped and yielded at length. 

So half the voices had vanished, 
And dear, v^rild, thoughtless Ned 

Grew silent, and played, in a tender way, 
With Maud's little golden head. 

But the bright little head grew weary. 
The sweet voice pleaded for rest, 

And the Shepherd, hearing His lamb's low 
cry. 
Close folded her to His breast. 

Then Ned grew bitter '* at Fate,'' he said, 
And was reckless and wild again, 

Though the sweet, old generous impulses 
lived 
Under all the terrible strain. 

And at last the glorious morning 

Rose radiant out of the night, 
And the willful, loving, penitent child 

Passed up into God's own light. 



52 A MEMORY. 

" So sad a tale," you say ; you are " sure 
That dear little May still lives." 
Alas, but no ! she sleeps the sleep 
That God to His loved ones gives. 

* And what," you ask, " of the mother. 
So smitten with blow on blow ? " 
But I told you the house was a temple. 
And the temple all aglow. 

For a house, through such solemn chrism. 

Grows either a temple or grave ; 
And through anguish this mother whispered 
" He takes but that which He gave ; 

" And shall 1 be hard and rebellious 
While they in the God-light shine ? 
O, Father, my Father, I thank Thee 
That theyafe both mine and Thine. 

** And what now to Thee shall I render. 
For these laid-up treasures," she cried ; 

" Tenfold I will strive to bring with me 
When I come at the eventide. 



A MEMORY, 53 

•* Ten priceless souls I will bring Thee 
For my first-born's harvest home ; 
And — ten ? twice ten, for the precious child 
Who never again can roam. 

** And five and three I will bring thee, 

And two and one, I will say. 

For my darlings, Helen and Alice, 

For baby Maud and my May. 

•* No hour for grief and repining, 
But each grateful hour for Thee. 
To repay Thee ? Ah, never, my Father, 
It is only Love's prompting in me," 

And so it is that at day-dawn, 

The loving service begins. 
And she sees her Philip, her Helen, 

In each dear soul that she wins. 

And if, perchance, in the noontide, 

Some prodigal prays at last, 
'Tis her wayward Ned that she kisses, 

As she did in the happy past. 



54 A MEMORY. 

And then in the shadowy twilight 

She returns in rapture, to feel 
That the temple is palpitant, glowing. 

As her darlings the silence unseal. 

What wonder her face has caught something 
Of the gladness and glory to come. 

And " grows only more rapt and joyful ** 
With each step nearer her home ? 

Yes, I know it seems strange to be grateful 
For sorrow, and loss upon loss ; 

Yet 'tis true of your friend, as I tell you. 
That she makes such Crown of her Cross, 

" No longer the same," you are sayings 
Ah, no— you look through my eyes ; 
You can see now the house is a temple 
Whose spire is lost in \he skies. 



"PAPA'S LITTLE GIRL."* 

A CHILD all motion, fire, and grace, 
From fairy foot to floating curl, 
With winsome smile, and sunniest face, 
Was " Papa's little girl." 

All summer, where the g'^wing flowers 

Their dainty banners wide unfurl, 
With laugh and song, through joyous hours. 
Went " Papa's little girl." 

But when the snow lay deep and cold, 
And all the trees were frosted pearl. 
Far out toward sunset's land of gold. 
Went " Papa's little girl.'* 

Alas I the few bright, fleeting days. 

Where flowers their banners never furl, 
Ere Azrael, shadowy ang J, came 

For "Papa's little girl." 

* Emily Upton Alexander, only daughter of Gen. Andrew 
and Eva Martin Alexander, and niece of Gen. Upton. Aged 
seven years. 

(55) 



56 ''PAPA'S LITTLE GIRLT 

But even when his icy breath 

Touched lip, and cheek and sunny curl, 
The sweet, pathetic voice still said, 
" I'm Papa's little girl/* 

A fearful hush, a cold despair. 

Fell through the world's gay restless whirl 
It seemed the very birds and flowers 

Missed " Papa's little girl." 

And though she walk the golden streets. 

And stand within the gates of pearl. 
Oh, will not God remember, she 

Was " Papa's little girl ? * 

Aye, when His perfect heavenly peace 

Shall follow all the earthly whirl. 
Faith whispers glad, she will again 
Be " Papa's little girl." 



PARTING. 

WHAT shall I say to thee, sweetest, 
kneeling- beside thee in tears ? 
Knowing that here ends the measure of all thy 

beautiful years ; 
Feeling the death-seal of silence, between us 

henceforth from this day, 
Which, of all lovingest things that my heart 
for thee holds, shall I say ? 

Can I beg thee for dear words of parting, with 

eager and passionate breath ? 
Or lament thy so instant transition from life to 

this marble of death ? 
And if I named all thou art leaving, should it 

be indeed matter of grief. 
That thou leavest the sowing for reaping — the 

seed for the full-ripened sheaf? 
(57) 



58 PARTING. 

But what hast thou left, then, dear sleeper, of 
all that the soul counteth worth ; 

Opening thine eyes upon Heaven, as they 
closed on the gladness of earth ? 

Thou art gone from this flower-crowned bright- 
ness, to God's glowing garden above ; 

Gone from our poor, anxious loving, to infinite 
riches of love. 

No shadow of death on thy pathway, no river 
in struggle to cross ; 

No anguish or trial of parting, no moment to 
picture a loss ; 

But in one happy instant, the angel who carries 
the golden key, 

Hath unlocked the wonderful portals, and open- 
ed all Heaven to thee ! 

O mystic, unspeakable glory ! I linger and 

listen outside. 
Though I catch but in echo the faintest, the 

joy of the on-swelling tide ; 
But I know thou art there with the harpers, on 

the banks of the crystal sea. 
And knowing such things, I can say, dearest, 

only one thing unto thee. 



PARTING. 59 

See, I place in thy hand these lilies, like those 

that the angel brought 
For the day of annunciation, and I have but 

this one glad thought ; 
Pressing my kisses down on thy death-sweet 

face, I say 
From my heart of hearts, my darling, I give 

thee joy of this day ! 



SUNSET. 

AT EIGHTY-SIX. 

AFAR from thee, dear friend, to-daf 
I dwell with loving thought 
On all the story of thy life, 

With joys and griefs inwrought. 

I think of all the weary way 
Thy pilgrim feet have trod — 

Of "years gone down into the past," 
Whose record is with God. 

Of all thy tender, patient trust. 

Of all thy calm, sweet faith. 
Which never asked for better oath 

Than just His own " He satth.'* 

Which walked alike in light or dark. 

While Jesus walked beside. 

And took the joys God offered here. 

Nor craved the joy denied. 
(60) 



SUNSET. 6] 

So simply walking^, with thy hand 

Close clasped in His each day. 
Most faithfully His covenant 

He kept with thee alway. 

In joy's bright day, He saved thee from 

The tempter's subtle power ; 
In sorrow's night, He hid thee deep 

Within His refuge-tower. 

The many thorns thy feet have pressed, 

His own had pressed before ; 
Thy sad temptations too He knew, 

In many a conflict sore. 

And oft, when these were overcome. 

And Hope might sing again. 
He brought thee to some mountain's heigh/ 

O'erlooking all the plain ; 

Whence, glancing down, thou saw'st with jcf 

The fearful path escaped, 
And glancing up, didst catch a glimpse 

Of Eden's distant gate. 



62 SUNSET. 

And so, through all the years thou'rt comCj 

Up to this peaceful shore, 
Where " only waiting " thou dost stand, 

Till Jesus go before. 

Thy pilgrim staff is bent and old. 

Thy sandals poor and worn, 
Thy garments gray and travel-stained, 

Thy red-cross banner torn. 

Yet patient wait — thy pilgrim staff 

A waving palm shall be ; 
Thy sandals gold, thy garments whiter 

Thy banner victory. 

The bridgeless river just beyond. 

The pilgrim way behind. 
So rest in Beulah's pleasant land, 

With glad, untroubled mind. 

For far across the gloomy wave 

Doth heavenly music ring ; 
And gleaming Eden-lights reveal 

The City of our King. 



SUNSET. 6z 

And, as in evening's sunset-glow 

An angel seems to stand, 
And holding wide the pearly gate, 

With glory floods the land : 

So, in thy life's sweet sunset hour 

I seem to see thee wait. 
Touched with the glory streaming through 

The softly-opened gate. 

So rest thee here, dear pilgrim, till 

The splendor brighter falls. 
And thou shalt be at home within 

The City's golden walls. 



AT THE RIVER. 

HERE, at the River, we meet then at last, 
And the meeting is gladness and pain ; 
For 'tis only this hour, here on the shore, 
The next we are parted again. 

But the sad, sad years are over, thank God, 
And the parting cannot be long ; 

It is this that hushes my beating heart. 
As the waves roll up so strong. 

It is just the very old story, Paul, 

Of Israel, after the sea — 
These sorrowful years of our wandering. 

That have chastened you and me. 

Our promised land was almost in sight. 
The journey was smooth and brief. 

Yet we turned the way of the wilderness, 
Though both hearts broke with their griet 
(64) 



A T THE RIVER. 63 

And now, we are linking that hour with this. 

And all that has gone between 
Is like a long, long loop that is made 

In the winding of a stream. 

What was, and what might be, were once so 
close, 

That a step had joined them then ; 
But we each stood out, across the strait. 

Till the wilderness began. 

Ah, well, the time is long ago, 

And the dear Lord cares for all j 
Though bearing the scales to weigh His worlds, 

He follows the sparrow's fall. 

And so, though we walked in the wilderness. 

An angel walked with us there ; 
Our raiment upon us waxed not old. 

And a gift ever answered a prayer. 

Ever into His sovereign, loving will. 

Converged our crookedest lines, 
And the pillar of cloud, and the pillar of fire. 

Were equally guiding signs, 



66 '4 T THE RIVER. 

And though we journeyed so widely apart. 
With eith<^r, by day or by night, 

The Covenant Angel dwelt in them both, 
And both led up to the light. 

And this sad, sweet hour, here on the shore, 
Is our Lord's last, precious gift ; 

But our hands unclasp, and the angel waits. 
And the current is strong and swift. 

And so I kiss you good-night, dear Paul, 
Here, at the River, good-night. 

The hours grow brief — we shall meet again« 
In the morning's abiding light. 



"AND THERE WAS LIGHT." 

" Let in the morning, mother— let in the morning." * 

'* ~r ET in the morning," the dear voice be- 

-■— ^ sought, 

When the last sad morning broke ; 
For with night in our hearts we had shut it out 

Till his eyes beseeching spoke. 

" God's beautiful morning, let it in 

Let in each blessed ray ; 
My soul cannot bear the darkness now, 
So near to the endless day. 

" Sweet glimpses I've had of the other shore, 

That made earth's sunshine dim ; 
How heavy must be earth's darkness then— 
Oh, let the morning in. 

" 'Tis God's fair herald to open the gates 

Of the glad eternal day, 
With its flaming torch flung out on high 

To show my feet the way. 

* E. L. G.— Fifteen years. 

(67) 



68 "AND THERE WAS LIGHTr 

" And I love the flowers that softly breathe 

Their voiceless praise to Him, 
And all bright, blessed things that live — 

Oh, let the morning in." 

And the sun poured in his beautiful light. 
And the flowers their burden rare. 

And the careless birds went singing by 
In the tender April air. 

But lo ! a light from no earthly orb. 

Lay pure on the brow within, 
And before the world's fair day had died, 

God let His morning in. 

Through the crystal gate of the jeweled court 
Where the heavenly morning reigns. 

From the Fountain of Light the golden flood 
Burst o'er the glowing plains. 

And over the Temple's flashing door, 

In radiant lines of light. 
Was the King's sweet pledge to His ransomed 
ones : 

"There shall be no more night." 



DE PROFUNDIS. 

u /^UT of the depths, O God, out of a/Aai 
yy depths," 

A mourner saith ; 
" Even out of the awful shadows 

Of the mystery of death I 

" Back from its dark and sternly-guarded gate, 
I come alone, 
And in the dust in utterest need and grief, 
I make my moan. 

" All life's sweet roses, rich in fragrant bloom, 
Lie heaped around ; 
I heed them not ; the only flower I loved. 
In death is bound. 

" Father, I cannot look into the face 
Of thy glad mom ; 
O take from out my bleeding heart 

This sharp, sharp thorn," 



7o DE PROFUNDIS. 

" Into the depths, oh, child, into what depths/ 

A sweet Voice saith, 
" Even into more awful shadows than 

The mystery of Death. 

" Into such depths, for purest love of thee 
I went alone ; 
Despised, condemned, forsaken, none were left 
To heed my moan. 

* All fragrance fills thy path — alas 1 in mine 

No flower was found ; 
Thou hast one thorn — ^with plaited wreath of 
thorns 

Thy Lord was crowned, 

" For tenderest love of thee, my stricken child, 
I bore the smart 
And all that fearful agony that broke 
My weary heart. 

And can it be, this dying love for thee 

Was all in vain ? 
With murmur and reproach, wilt crucify 

Thy Lord again ? 



DE PROFUNDIS. 71 

" My child, my child, I thought thy Saviour had 
That heart of thine. 
Behold, I plead with thee — how can I give 
thee up ? 

Art thou not mine ? 

* Is not my death for thee, sufficient pledge 

That every pain. 
And every loss I send thee, is to bring 
Some greater gain ? 

Oh, trust thy risen Lord, and now return 

Unto thy rest ; 
Go, press life's fragrant flowers, thy Father's 
gifts, 

Unto thy breast. 



On some bright hill, in some revealing hour. 

Of Heaven's glad mom, 
Thy heart shall know the meaning deep and 
sweet, 

Of this one thorn." 



72 DE PROFUNDIS. 

" Out of the depths, dear Lord, out of these 
depths," 

The mourner saith, 
" I cry, Forgive, forgive, oh, lead me still 

Even unto death. 

* O Heavenly Pleader, give me close to clasp 

Thy pierced right hand ; 
Oh, love me still, and still work out in me 
What Thou hast planned. 

" And though I grieve Thee oft, and many times 
Most wayward be, 
Thou knowest all things, dearest Lord, Thou 
knowest 

I love but Thee. * 



A CHRISTMAS MEMORY. 

IN Rome's old Palace of the Quirinal, 
Where popes are made, and from which 
popes have fled, 
We walked and wondered, half one sunny day, 
All shod in softest wool, lest careless step 
Should mar the bright mosaics of the floor. 

Pendant from height to base, rich tapestries 
Made pictures on the walls, while mingled 

scenes 
Of battle, martyr, Magdalen, and saint 
In fresco, all the ceilings hid with art. 
Each spreading hall and chamber showed in 

turn 
Its wealth of gathered spoil, from sculptured 

frieze 
To pavement tesselar ; from costly gem 
To inlaid cabinet, and tables brought 
From caves of malachite, or wrought with skill 
In workshop of the Florentine, or rich 
With priceless stones antique, of varied hue, 

(73) 



74 ^ CHRISTMAS MEMORY, 

While rarest flowering-forth of fair ideal 
From sculptor's brain in marble or in bronze, 
Decked all the place, each one a poor man's 
wealth. 

Thus viewing all, we questioned each of each, 
What Christ's old Galilean Peter, who 
For Romans holds the keys of heaven and hell. 
Would once have thought or felt, to call himself 
The lord of all this regal pomp, or find 
Himself at ease within these storied walls. 
We pictured hi7n, upon that royal chair 
They called a throne — then smiled at such 

grotesque, 
Incongruous fancy, linked with him who kept 
His humble trade of fisherman intact, 
And drew his fisher's net, at last, to shore 
With priceless souls, its burden, for his Lord. 

At last, 'mid all the splendor of the place. 
One sweet white thought came like a snowy 

dove. 
And nestling, made that sunny day its own. 
At last the Christ Himself had one small space 
Within the royal home of His self-styled 



A CHRISTMAS MEMORY, 75 

Vicegerent. Looking upward where we stood, 
Not great except in thought, nor finely wrought, 
Yet filling all our hearts with beautiful intent, 
One soft, fair fresco crowned the stately room. 
And this the picture which we wondering viewed : 

Down from Judean hills, and far across 
Arabia's desert sands, from Chebar's banks. 
From temple -porch, from Bethel's prophet- 
school. 
And forth from Babylon's great palace-gate, 
Captive or free, the grand procession came, 
"The goodly fellowship " of Israel's seers. 
Sweeping in triumph-march across the plain. 
First he, the poet-prophet with his harp 
Attuned to loftier praise and nobler psalm 
Than e'er of old had lived and thrilled through 

all 
The choral music of the temple rites ; 
Then that rapt seraph-heart, which beat and 

burned 
Within Isaiah's bosom, flamed in joy 
Into the heavenly face upturned to God, 
Fast following on the steps of Judah's bard ; 
Next he whose sad lament o'er Zion's fall. 



76 A CHRISTMAS MEMORY. 

Once swept his page with mournful minor 

chord, 
Now wept for joy, at gladder prophecies 
Fulfilled ; while one, who wondrous visions saw 
Upon the river's banks in Chaldean lands. 
Now seemed as lifted up himself, on that 
Same chariot of fire-enfolded wheel 
With flaming eyes, and winged cherubim, 
He saw from out the whirlwind as it passed ; 
And He who told Belshazzar's doom, and saw 
The images of kingdoms yet unborn. 
Fall crumbling at the touch of that great stone 
That without hands was from the mountain cut, 
He too with all the gathering sweeping train 
Took up one joyous song of raptured praise — 
" To us a Child is born, a Sqn is given — 
The Wonderful, the Counsellor— behold 
Our Prince of Peace " — and as we gazed, we 

seemed 
Again to hear the hallelujah swell 
As from orchestral harmonies, poured forth 
In music palpitant—" Thou Wonderful ! 
Thou Counsellor ! Thou mighty Prince of 

Peace ! 



A CHRISTMAS MEMORY. 77 

Thou King of kings, thou mighty Lord of lords ! 
Forever and forever Thou shalt reign ! " 
And listening thus, we looked again, and lo ! 
A little Child led all the wondrous host ! 

Then \vent we forth into the shining day 
From Rome's old palace of the Quirinal. 
And still in memory's picture of that hour, 
We see but Bethlehem's Child, and hear again 
" The Hallelujah Chorus," where He leads 
The whole grand saintly host of His redeemed. 



REWARD. 

ALL joyously down through the golden 
field 
The reapers had come with a shout ; 
They had cheered each other with word and 
song, 
As their sickles flashed in and out. 

And tenderly now fell the day asleep. 

As they heard the Master call 
Through the starlit silence, " Enter ye in. 

My reward is waiting for all." 

The palace shone out on the happy night 

With its windows all aflame, 
Its radiant portals swinging wide. 

With welcome for all who came. 

With bannered sheaves, with the trumpet's 
voice, 
With the marching of eager feet, 
The train swept in through the golden gates, 
And up to the royal seat. 
(78) 



REWARD. 79 

But lo, far off in the harvest-field, 

Weary and sad and so late, 
With a single sheaf, there lingered one 

Still striving to reach the gate. 

He had caught the echo of that sweet call 
That fell through the holy night ; 

He had seen the throng from the darkened 
field. 
Sweep into the palace-light. 

And a cry went up from his sorrowful soul, 
" O Master, tarry for me ; 
Oh, shut not the gates whence the glory 
streams, 
My weary heart breaketh for thee." 

At last to the banqueting hall he came, 

So ragged, and old, and worn. 
His only treasure, the one bright sheaf. 

On his poor, bent shoulders borne. 

Then the face of the King was tender and 
grave, 



8o REWARD. 

As of one who was hiding a tear, 
As he gently questioned, "What wouldesl 
thou, 
And what dost thou bring me here ? " 

Most eager and loving the answer that 

came — 
** I had gone with the reapers at morn, 
With longing to bring thee such glorious 

sheaves 
As might even thy palace adorn. 

"But scarcely one hour I wrought with the 
rest. 
Ere I fell by the wayside alone ; 
With a fevered brow and a pain -racked 
frame 
I lay till the morning was done. 

"Sweet children passed with their sickles 
small — 
They would reap for the King, they said— 
I showed them whither the reapers had 
gone, 
And blessed them as on they sped. 



REWARD. 8 J 

•' But when in the noontide's sultry hour 

The fever and pain were done, 
The rust, alas, my sickle had spoiled, 
And the strength of my youth was gone. 

" Far off I could see the victorious ones 
With the flash of their blades so keen ; 
But no words could reach them, and there 
alone, 
I knew I could only glean. 

" The few bright stalks they had left in their 
haste, 
I gathered in weakness for thee ; 
And this poor, bare entrance within thy 
gates 
Is all that is left for me." 

Then the King rose up from his throned 
seat, 
With a face most sweet to see ; 
' They also serve, who suffer," he said, 
" Their reward is still with me. 



82 REWARD. 

" Thy sheaf may be small, but thy love was 
great — 
I crown thee victor with this." 
And lo, in the silence, bending, he pressed 
On that brow his signet kiss. 

And the sorrowful gleaner stood a prince, 

Transformed by that wondrous sign ; 
While a shout rang down through the palace 

hall, 
" O Love, the guerdon is thine ! " 



LIFE— A PROBLEM. 

A LITTLE smiling, mingled oft with tears, 
A little hoping, linked with many fears, 
A little trusting, chased by doubt and diead, 
A little light, unto much darkness wed — 
This call we Life — to breathe, to love, to die ! 
Who shall for us unfold the great, sad mystery ? 

Heaven's radiance makes rainbows through 

the tears, 
Humility's sweet flower upspringeth from the 

fears, 
The holy shield of Faith tempers in fires of 

grief. 
The seed in weeping sown, returns a golden 

sheaf — 
glorious Life in Death ! no more, no more 

to die ! 
One hath dissolved for us the deep, sweet 

mystery ! 

(83) 



ALONE. 

ALONE in the room ! 
Oh, darkest mysteryj 
Eaith's bitter history. 
Reads like a doom. 

Alone in the room ! 
Missing the loving grace, 
Wanting the precious face 

Lost in the gloom. 

Alone in the room ! 

Drinking death's bitterness; 

Cries of our sore distress 
Piercing the tomb. 

Alone in the room ! 

Oh, when will night be done ? 

Oh, Darling, Darling, come 
Back to the room. 

(84) 



ALONE. 85 

Alone in the room ? 

Oh, sweetest mystery ! 

Earth's hidden history, 
Christ's in the room. 

Alone in the room ? 

Cannot His perfect grace. 

His tender pitying face, 
Lighten the gloom ? 

Oh, Hes in the room ! 

Death's bitter pang is past ; 

Victors we are at last, 
Rending the tomb. 

Alone nevermore ! 
Morning comes soon or late \ 
Oh, Darlirtg, Darling, wait 

Close by the shore. 



* THINE EYES SHALL SEE THE KING 
IN HIS BEAUTY." 

O SWEET, prophetic words ! still ringing 
clear, 
Through all the centuries from that elder year, 
Wherever waiting hearts are hushed to hear ! 



Thine eyes shall see the King ! O wondrous 

sight ! 
Thy weary eyes, astrain through all the night. 
Watching for faintest gleam of longed-for 

light! 

Thy sad eyes, memory-touched with " all re- 
gret;" 

Thy dim eyes, aching still with *' life's small 
fret," 

Seeing as through a glass, most darkly yet I 
(86) 



" THE KING IN HIS BEA UTVr 87 

Thy blind eyes, seeing even not at all, . 
Yet opening quickly at the Master's call ; 
Glad, eager eyes, from which all weights shall 
fall. 

O wondrous hour of vision ! Long ago 
Hath rapt Isaiah come thy joy to know ; 
That heavenly beauty which he strove to show. 

Ardiangels veil their faces, while they sing. 
Before the awful splendor of their King, 
Afraid to sweep such height with ev'n angelic 
wing. 

They long to know that mystery of grace, 
Whereby the ransomed see Him face to face, 
Nor fall, nor fear to fall, from that high place. 

They know not, even they, that tenderest tie. 
By which He brings His chosen ones so nigh— 
His cross, His blood, and Calvary's bitter cry. 

Oh, saddest, sweetest bond ! And can it be 
That through His sorrow, joy shall come to 

mef 
That thus His glorious beauty I shall see ? 



88 *'THE KING IN HIS BEA UTY:* 

Oh, Joy, too deep for aught but happy tears ! 
Oh, Faith, that climbs a height beyond all 

fears ? 
Oh, Hope, that crowns and gladdens all my 

years ! 

My heart repeats the promise o'er and o'er. 
Though 'tis an " old, old story " heard before, 
Yet with each dear repeating loved the more. 

O eyes, for which such vision is in store. 
Keep ye to all things pure, forevermore, 
Till ye shall close beside Death's shadowed 
door. 

Be lighted from within, by unseen Guest, 
Send out warm rays of love to all distrest. 
And lure them by your shining into rest. 

So, in His beauty, shall ye see the King, 
And to His eyes' sweet answer steadfast cling, 
Nor fade, nor droop, o'ershadowed by His 
wing. 



TWO ANGELS. 

WHEN in dark before the dawning, 
Night was on the wane, 
In the shadow and the silence, 

Came the angel, Pain. 
Close behind him, walked another, 

Pale, with bated breath ; 
By the golden key he carried, 
Angel he, of Death. 

Then spake Pain : " I bring this token, 

Sharp as any sword ; 
It will crush thy life's frail chalice. 

But 'tis from thy Lord." 
Only smiles, Pain got for answer, 

And this ringing word — 
" Tokens sharp as swords, are welcome. 

Coming from my Lord ! " 

Then spake Death : " Pain bears the token, 
I, the message bring ; 

(89) 



90 TWO ANGELS. 

Life thou livest now no longer, 
Thus hath said thy King." 
" Nay, dear angel," came the answer, 
" If I go with thee, 
Life of life shall open to me, 
By thy golden key." 

Through the shadow and the silence. 

Passed both Pain and Death ; 
Grand and tender was the baptism 

Of their solemn breath ! 
Then One stood within the chamber. 

Neither Death nor Pain ! 
Only wide and wondrous glory, 

Crowned what they had slain I 



AT SCHOOL. 

LIKE children at a common desk and task, 
We sit in God's great school, and if or ill, 
Or well, we learn, each chooses for himself. 
God gives the varied text-books, great and small. 
But how to use them, or to use at all, 
Each chooses, in the changing discipline of hfe. 
So7ne lessons all must learn, who even once 
Shall enter in, but God reserves the truths 
Most grand and deep, for His most diligent 
And earnest ones — the faithful students 
Of His open books. But those who careless sit, 
And idly toy with simplest rules and tasks, 
Nor wish to look beyond, shall never learn 
The spirit's high astronomies, the great 
Soul-chemistries, and grand arithmetic 
Of God. For these are secrets of the Lord, 
And only Faith, alight with earnest Zeal, 
Shall make discoveries in those far heavens, 

(91) 



92 AT SCHOOL. 

Or know from wavering orbit, some great star 
Of truth still lies outside his lesson's sweep, 
But waiting there, more patient, loving search^ 
To shine unveiled, far up the starry heights. 

And only Works, with truest Faith informed. 
Shall know the mystic symbols of those things 
Which in God's crucible combine to change, 
Create, or turn to forms invisible, 
Before appears the flawless crystal, He 
Would make of every true and loving life. 
And only that far-reaching thought, which 

gains 
Broad view of Time and of Eternity, 
Can even feebly grasp the lengthening line 
Of God's great plummet, through the sounding 

deeps 
Of His vast measurements ! 

What must it be 
To gather thus the secrets of the Lord ? 
And oh ! what matters it to him whose soul 
Is hungering and athirst for truth, that he 
Full oft must follow it through flood and flame } 
Nay, rather flood and flame shall be for him 
God's telescope, revealing to his sight 



AT SCHOOL. 93 

The wonders of the spiritual sky. 

Nay, rather still, who would not choose both 

flood 
And flame, if it were only so that he 
Could reach the light ineffable, where hides 
The perfect face of Him who is The Truth ? 



ON THE BRIDGE. 

OVER the river an arching bridge : 
Over the bridge, the rush 
Of hundreds of feet, from the morning's glow 
To the evening's latest flush. 

Going and coming day by day. 
Walked one with anxious heart ; 

" Alas !." he said, " for the years sweep by, 
And I find no heavenly art 

" By which to bridge the stream of death 

From this to the happy shore : 
No man can I find with a builder's skill, 

No name with the needful lore." 

Over the river he came one day. 

Longing and sorrowful still. 
And there, midway on the sunny arch. 

Holding a crowd at his will, 
(94) 



ON THE BRIDGE. 95 

A poor blind reader sat with his book, 

Fingering slowly the page, 
And like soft, sweet music, forth from his touch 

Came the words of a buried age : 

" Neither is there salvation," he read, 

" In another name than His — 
For there's none other name " — and he paused 
to turn 

The leaf as he uttered this. 

While his trembling fingers sought the place 

On the topmost line again. 
Like a child at school he clung to the words 

Just read, in a sweet refrain : 

" For there's none other name " — " there's 
none other name " — 

" None other name " — thus it fell 
On the ear of him with the sorrowful heart, 

Like the chime of a far-off bell. 

And on through the hours it followed him still ; 
At eve, through the silent air, 



96 ON THE BRIDGE. 

" There's none other name " — " Oh, none other 
name," 
Rung low like a vesper prayer. 

When the morning dawned, like a matin-bell 

Upon his wakening ear, 
" There's none other name " — " Oh, none other 
name," 

Again rang soft and clear. 

He has found the Name with the needful lore, 

The Man with the builder's skill ; 
His bridge is built to the happy shore, 
The river beneath may rage and roar, 
He shall cross when the Builder will. 



"PEACE." 

OVER the drifting snows. 
In through the bitter storm, 
A soft, low wind of the woodland blows, 
With the breath of the summer, warm. 

Only some fairy ferns 

On a crimson banner set ; 
Only the thought of a heart that turns 

From the warfare it fain would forget. 

** Peace " — spell the tiny leaves. 
With wave and ripple and curve ; 

And a summer blessing my heart receives 
From Him whom His summers serve. 

For 1 think how the low life-growths, 
In the shade of sorrowful years. 

Shall spell at last, 'neath the Father's hand. 
The ** Peace " that is offspring of tears. 

(97) 



98 ''PEACES 

Peace for thy " Peace," dear heart ; 

Thy summer blossoms afar, 
And the tender green of its precious bloom 

No frosts of thy winter can mar. 

Love will write " Peace " for thee yet, 

Each letter interpreting, when. 
On the love-red ground of His Passion 'tis set, 

With seal of God's changeless Amen ! 



ENTERED INTO REST. 
F. L. G. 

SLOWLY, slowly, mute and tearless, 
Through the shaded valley's gloom, 
Step by step we followed fearless, 
In the dim, death-silent room. 

Oh, to cross with him, the river, 
Shrunk to such a shallow tide — 

Surely, struggling, praying, clinging, 
We might pass it side by side ; 

Side by side, the City enter. 

Side by side our darlings meet ; 

Stand before our Christ together 
On the City's golden street. 

But behold, the shadows deepen ; 

Deepens, too, the rolling tide ; 
Looser fall the clasping fingers. 

Farther shines the other side. 

(99) 



loo ENTERED INTO REST. 

Each alone / Ah, voiceless, breathless, 

Seems the soul already past ; 
Will no word again o'ertake it. 

Pierce it, fix it, once at last ? 

Then, " The Lord — the Lord's my Shepherd," 
Flung at venture, o'er the wave, 

Caught and held the fleeting spirit, 
As on pinion strong to save. 

Through the mist came backward floating 
Glad and strong and full of cheer, 
" I'll not want — not want forever — 
In the valley there's no fear." 

Closed the mist again about him. 
Soft, slow wash of waves we heard, 

Onward went the fleeting spirit 
With this last, this happy word. 

Instant to my raptured vision. 

Passed the wave — the silence o'er ! 

Oh, the host beloved and sainted, 
Gathered on that other shore ! 



ENTERED INTO REST. loi 

Oh, the gladness and the glory ! 

Oh, the rapturous embrace, 
Finding in the radiant City, 

Each remembered, longed-for face ! 

Oh, the grace he falleth heir to, 
There beside the Father's Throne ! 

Only this, my soul can utter — 
Joy for thee, my Own, my Own ! 

Only mine, the lonely longing ! 

Thine, fulfillment — thme, release ; 
Only mine, the patient waiting, 

Thou hast entered into peace ! 



A NEW COMMANDMENT. 

JOY and I awhile were strangers, 
Life seemed full of pains and dangers, 
When at Prayer's all-hallowed altar, 
Dropped as from some heavenly Psalter, 
Into my heart this wonderful word — 
" Enter thou into the joy of thy Lord ! " 

Stood my soul almost affrighted. 
Now bewildered, now delighted. 
Were then pains and dangers ended ? 
Was my soul to God ascended ? 

Else how heard I that judgment word, 
" Enter thou into the joy of thy Lord " ? 

Spirit answered unto spirit, 
Child, ev'n now thou dost inherit 
Peace and joy, and grace and glory ! 
Thus grows large, salvation's story ; 

Hence the commanding, life-giving word, 
'Enter thou into the joy of thy Lord ! ' " 

(102) 



A NEW COMMANDMENT. 103 

Joy and 1 no more are strangers ; 
Life still bears its pains and dangers, 
But my heart, as it is bidden. 
Finds the deeper meaning hidden 

In this quickening, wonderful word, 
" Enter thou into the joy of thy Lord." 



THE OLD GRAVEYARD. 

EAST HAMPTON, LONG ISLAND. 

TT^IS a quaint little sea-girt village, 
-L And in midst of its grassy street, 

At either end in the road's slight bend, 
The dead and the living meet. 

There slowly we wandered at sunset. 
The long- gone days to repeat. 

Then over the low stile climbing, 

The dead lay close at our feet. 
And it seemed not strange there was little 
change 

From the quiet village street : 
For the past was but part of the present. 

As a flower in its fragrance complete. 

Two hundred years seemed vanished. 
Dim yesterdays were now, 
(104) 



THE OLD GRAVEYARD. 105 

And the first low mound in the hallowed 
ground 

Lay fresh in the April snow ; 
And we fancied we heard in that ancient morn 

The bell's great heart throb low. 

For their aged and faithful shepherd 

The flock wept sore that day ; 
'Twas a humble name, unknown to fame. 

Remote from the world's highway ; 
But a " pasture " he had been to his sheep, 

So the stone's old records say. 

And the Lord of the pastures knew him — 

Ah ! record so brief, so great ! 
What crown or sword like this potent word 

When we come to the upper Gate, 
Through which, long since, this saint passed on 

To his heirship and estate ? 

Two hundred years ! Swift moving 
Through gates of birth and death. 

The shadowy host long since have crest 
The world of mortal breath : 



lo6 THE OLD GRAVEYARD, 

Nor joy nor grief can once disturb 
Tlie dust that slumbereth. 

At each low grassy billow 

The moss-grown headstone shows 

How young, how old, the name that is told, 
And the rest the Father knows ; 

For us it is shut 'neath the Summer sod 
And a hundred Winters' snows. 

What then was the thought, we wondered, 

Of the quiet old dwellers here, 
Who thus 'mid the strife of their daily life 

Set death to interfere, 
And bounded the beaten pathway 

With the places so sad, so dear ? 

Simple and reverent and thoughtful, 
Their earth and their heaven met, 

And that life on earth had eternal worth 
They never had questioned yet : 

For their faith each word accepted 
Where the Father's seal was set. 

And they would that going or coming 
In their quiet life by the sea, 



THE OLD GRAVEYARD. 107 

Their commonest thought might be ever in- 
wrought 

With sense of eternity, 
That so when the Master should summon 

No haste and no terror should be ; 

Or mayhap 'twas a word familiar, 

Awaking nor sigh nor fear, 
And life went out with a grave, sweet thought, 

Like the going out of the year, 
And they wanted the whole dear household, 

Awake or asleep, to be near ; 

Or that haply dear eyes of a baby. 

If folded away in the night, 
Might softly rest without pain or quest. 

With the Father's door in sight, 
To wake in the last long morning 

With nothing of change to affright. 

So musing and wandering, the twilight 

Fell softly down like a veil, 
And the shadows crept where but shadows 
slept, 

And the winds made gentle wail 



lo8 THE OLD GRAVEYARD, 

Till they seemed like the long-hushed voices 
Telling the old life-tale. 

Then back o'er the low stile climbing, 
Back through the village street, 

With tender face, " Oh, dear grave-place," 
We said, " how near, how sweet ! 

In the Life and the Resurrection 
Your sleepers and we shall meet." 



FULFILMENT. 

IT was only last night that you went away. 
And to-day, how grand, how strange 
To you, with your sad, pathetic life. 
Is this sudden, silent change. 

Ah, could you tell me just what it is like — 

This life you are living now ! 
Are all your grand ideals complete, 

With the victorj'-crown on your brow ? 

Has the old earth-conflict ceased within ? 

Are the surging waters stilled, 
Where your soul tossed yearningly back and 
forth, 

With its longings unfulfilled ? 

I remember you wished for a wonderful voice. 
To utter your song like a bird's ; 

(109) 



no FULFILMENT, 

I remember you longed, with a poet's heart, 
For a poet's cadenced words. 

And with artist-instinct, you gazed through 
tears 

That were born of despair and desire, 
At the world-famed miracles, color-wrought 

Of the artist's opaline fire. 

Alas ! nor picture, nor poem, nor song 
Was born of your longing and tears, 

Yet bravely and sweetly, for God and the right, 
You faithfully stood through the years. 

And only last night, came the heavenly call, 
And to-day how grand, how strange, 

At the end of your sad, pathetic life. 
Must be this marvellous change. 

For to-day your song is immortally tuned. 
But its glory is born of your strife ; 

And your poem, is poem and picture in one. — 
The story, the grace of your life !; 



ON THE SEA. 

OUR night is dark, the billows high, 
We toil in rowing, death is nigh, 
When o'er our storm-tossed Galilee 
Comes Jesus walking on the sea. 

Then in our hearts of little faith, 
A new affright hath sudden breath ; 
We cry, " It must a spirit be," 
And know not Jesus on the sea. 

Then falls the tender, chiding voice, 
'Tis I — 'tis I— oh, heart, rejoice." 
Whereat, grown bold, we pray to be 
Called unto Jesus o'er the sea. 

But bidden come, behold our fear 
Again o'ercomes ; w^ith danger near. 
We cry, " I sink ! oh, save Thou me ! " 
Then clasped by Him we walk the sea. 

(Ill) 



112 ON THE SEA. 

He comes with us into the ship ; 
The winds into His leashes slip ; 
Calm grows our storm-tossed Galilee 
Since He hath walked upon the sea. 

Then waves and fears and struggles o'er, 
No toil to bring our boat to shore, 
Where, in Gennesaret may be, 
Men hear of Him who walked the sea. 

They call to Him through waves of woe, 
With trouble, sickness, sin, they go. 
They cry, " I perish — save Thou me "; 
He straight treads down their whelming sea. 

Thenceforth we follow where He leads. 
With Him seek out all human needs ; 
For, members of His body, we 
Must walk with Him on every sea. 

With Him tread waves of sin and woe. 
With Him lay surging hatreds low ; 
Thus conquering each wild Galilee, 
We walk with Jesus on the sea. 



AT THE GATE. 

THE Gates stood open one solemn night, 
And a Soul looked so far within 
That it gladly and earnestly said to itself, 
** Now surely I've done with sin. 

*' I've done with the earthly toil and pain, 
I may take the Angel's hand, 
For none could have such visions as these 
Save they who enter The Land." 

But one came forth from the burning throne. 

Where angel and seraph wait, 
And, alas ! the vision faded away 

As he slowly shut the Gate. 

Then the Soul sank down in a tide of grief. 
Turned back from the very door, 

Still barred from the glowing golden street 
Where it thought to sin no more. 



114 -^^ ^-^-^ GATE. 

** So weary ! so weary ! Oh, dearest Lord," 

Was its sad, regretful cry, 
*' I cannot turn back to the battle again 

When the victory seemed so nigh. 

** I am faint and spent with the wrestler's 
strife, 
I lie as among the slain ; 
Oh, give back the vision and make it real. 
And open the heavens again ! " 

What gleameth there to the yearning gaze ? 

What form is that at the Gate, 
With the human strain in the voice divine, 

So tenderly whispering, " Wait ! " 

" Dear, tired Soul, for the Master's sake 
Turn back to the battle once more ; 
Thou hast faithfully wrought, and thy crown 
is won. 
But the conflict is raging sore ; 

" And the need is great of each keen-edged 
sword. 
Of each royal red-cross knight, 



AT THE GATE. u^ 

Of every struggle, the wide world o'er, 
Thai the King may have his right. 

'' Wilt thou wait then awhile thy coveted rest. 
Wilt thou keep to thy loyal league ? 
So many trophies are thine to win. 
Though in danger and in fatigue. 

* Win other stars for thy lustrous crown — 

It were worth all toil and pain ; 
There is other labor for other worlds, 
But never a soul to gain. 

• * Souls ! souls for the kingdom ! ' the battle- 

cry 
Be this through the hottest strife ; 
Thou wilt not grieve for thy transient loss, 
With such gain and glory of life." 

Then up sprang the Soul from the shining 
door. 

And forgetting its loss and pain, 
Went joyfully forth with the Lord it loved, 

And it fought with might and main. 



Ii6 AT THE GATE. 

By His side in the night, in the thickest fray. 
With a vigor most new and glad, 

Went the happy Soul without doubt or fear. 
In the heavenly armor clad. 

And behold since that solemn, shining night 
The Gates have been ever " ajar," 

And the eager Soul looks in when it will, 
Though its entrance be near or far. 



'^CASTING ALL YOUR CARE UPON 
HIM." 

ALL care, dear Lord ? Is this Thy gra- 
cious word 
To me, so full of great and little cares 
In heart and life ? I scarce such word can 

grasp. 
Or think it meant for me, who am so pressed. 
So wearied 'mid the hurrying throng ; so sad 
Of soul because this one I loved has gone 
From voice and touch of mine forevermore ; 
So filled with fear lest manna of to-day 
Last not till morning light ; so sorrowful 
Because an unkind word, a chilling look, 
A change in one who loved, falls o'er my path 
Like shadow dense and drear ; so overwhelmed 
With sore distress because harsh tongues of 

hate 
Have tampered with my clean white name and 

flung 

(117) 



Ii8 ''CASTING CARE UPON him:' 

Suspicion o'er my pure intent, and stained 
With strife and falsehood e'en my deeds of love ; 
So bowed with grief, because I have not kept 
Thy name above dishonor or reproach, 
Though truly loving Thee, as Peter loved ; 
Because my careless tongue hath uttered words 
That hurt another heart, or my cold look 
Hath fallen chill on one who longed for love 
And Christly help ; because my wayward feet 
Have walked where Thou couldst not beside 

me walk, 
And my weak, faithless heart so often seeks 
Its treasure 'mid the things that please not 

Thee ; 
And care above all cares that makes my heart 
So heavy-laden in the world's great work, 
Because so little fruit perfection finds. 
Because Thy white, white banner trails in dust, 
And enemies to Thee, with tongue and pen 
And sword, press hotly on, and fain would 

sweep 
Our Christ from off His throne, and all the gates 
Of sin and wrath seem opened wide to pour . 
Along the very channels of Thy love 



'' CASTING CARE UPON HIM." 119 

And grace their poison of destructive rage, 
While through the earth, so few, so faint, so 

cold. 
Thine own redeemed so feebly stem the tide ; 
Or here, perchance, with burning zeal, 
With torch aflame and heart aglow, they lead 
Some ardent hope, to fall beside the way 
With promise unfulfilled, and all the field 
Strewn thick with losses to Thy holy cause, 
Till heart doth fail, and quivering flesh doth 

faint, 
And cry, " How long, O Lord, how long dost 

Thou 
Avenge not Thine elect, or bring to pass 
Thy promise, waiting since creation's dawn ! " 
All these, my cares, dear Lord, and countless 

more. 
Dost Thou thus tenderly allure Thy child 
To cast on Thee ? Ah, sacred Heart, I know 
Thou bledst o'er all earth's woe and sin and 

death. 
But my poor little griefs, my one weak heart — 
Dost Thou indeed lean from Thy heaven's far 

height ■ ^r^-i:i^^ ^>A>^'r:--'-^i'vi \^-^ ii<^-^ jt ^^>hr 



120 " CASTING CARE UPON HIM." 

'Mid all the homage of those countless throngs 
Who praise Thee evermore, to catch and bear 
The weight of such poor, foolish things as these 
I bring to Thee ? 

Yet list, my soul, the words 
That fall so soft, so sweet, like blessed balm. 
From those most holy lips, " Much more " — 

" much more." 
What is it that He saith, "Much more"? 

Oh, list ! 
'* Consider thou the lilies how they grow, 
The tender grass that withers in an hour, 
The happy birds that fly thro' heaven's soft 

blue ; 
Do I not clothe and feed and care for all. 
And are not ye much better, ye, my own, 
Than these, and shall I not much more, much 

more 
Thus feed and care for you, my faithless one ? 
Yes, every care, the least, the lowliest, cast 
On me. Bring unto me those blinding tears 
That fall because thy flower's garden-place 
On earth is vacant, tho' in Heaven filled. 
And I will so transform them into pearls 



''CASTING CARE UPON HIMr 121 

That thou shalt wear thy grief as diadem 
Upon thy brow. Bring, too, to me, that thought 
So anxious for the morrow's bread, and know 
That manna of to-day shall only fail 
When manna of to-morrow falls from heaven. 
Give, too, to me, that chilling word, and look 
Unkind, and changing love that break thy heart, 
And thou shalt see the beauty of thy King, 
Thy Father's smile in place of these. And 

bring 
That fear of evil tongues, and I will hide 
In my pavilion safe and deep from strife 
Of tongues, my blood-bought child. And all 

the sins 
That separate 'twixt thee and me ; that love 
Divided oft, that wandering heart, those feet 
That stray in devious paths ; those hands that 

strive 
To draw from broken cisterns for thy thirst ; 
Those lips, that oft agamst the Crucified 
Bear heavy witness, bring them where my blood 
May on them fall, and leave no stain behind. 
And for thy work, oh, foolish, faithless child^ 
Is not thy work the work for which I died. 



122 ''CAS TING CARE UPON HIM:' 

And canst thou think I love it less than thou ? 
If sin and' wrath pour all their tides abroad, 
Shall not they praise me ? Can I not restrain ? 
Shall not the victory therefore brighter shine ? 
If flaming torches that would light the way 
Expire ere day hath dawned, / still am Light. 
If ardent souls are slain abreast the fray, 
The martyr's blood is still the Church's seed. 
If like a flood the enemy break forth 
With breach on breach, the Spirit of the 

Lord 
Shall lift His standard where they rage, and 

sword 
Shall answer sword where'er they flash thro' all 
My mountains strong, and my eternal word 
Shall shrivel up their puny speech like straw 
In fiercest flame. Still, still, my trembling 

child, 
I lead thee on to conquest grand, complete I 
Oh, hast thou still one care, one fear, one doubt, 
Thou hast not breathed into my waiting ear ? 
Fear not, my Httle one, my chosen child : 
Thy Father's promise 'tis to give to thee 
His name, His kingdom, and His victory, 



''CASTING CARE UPON HIAi:' 123 

And neither height, nor depth, nor things in 

heaven 
Or earth or hell, shall pluck thee from my hand. 
Or give one enemy foothold to keep. 
Cast then thy cares on me — ail cares of sin. 
Of grief, of fear, of toil. So folded close 
And deep within my perfect love, there thou 
Shalt learn what means thy Father's word of 

grace. 
His sweet * much more '! " 



MISCELLANEOUS. 



EPITHALAMIUM. 

A "SILVER WEDDING." 

OVER the cloud-wrapt mountains, 
Over the river and plain, 
From the city's heart, with its tremulous thriU« 
To a sunny nest on the western hills, 
Greeting, and love, and acclaim. 

For up in a lofty turret, 

—The great watch-tower of Time — 
The century-bell swings to and fro, 
Striking the quarter soft and low. 

With a ringing, silvery chime. 

" Wedded and crowned," repeating : 
" Crowned and wedded long ; " 
Ring out ! ring out ! O century-bell, 
Thou hast never a happier tale to tell. 

With thy hundred tongues of song 
(127) 



128 EPITHALAMIUM. 

Hing for the years in their passage, 
Ring for the day that has come. 
When the waving harvest of loving deeds, 
And of service given to Earth's g^eat needs, 
Lies gathered in heart and home. 

Swift-vdnged Thought flies backward, 

• Over the years that are fled. 
And, standing far down the aisle of Time, 
She sees the completion of Love's sweet rhyme 
In a vision of two who are wed. 

Bending her ear to listen. 

She catches— just begun — 
The wondrous strain of Life's great Psalm, 
As heart meets heart in holiest calm, 

Forevermore made one. 

Steadily down the pathway 
She follows them year by year,. 
While the Winter's glory, the Summer's bliss. 
The year's sweet Vesper and Spring's dream* 
kiss, 
Glide on and disappear. 



E PITH A LA MI UM, 129 

Forward through storm and sunshine. 
Hasting and resting, they fare ; 
While the shadows sweep on, o'er the dial's 

plate, 
Life's noon is past, and the hour grows late. 
Or ever they are aware. 

But Memory smiles at the treasure 

Garnered within her grasp ; 
The golden grain from the tear-sown seed. 
The bursting sheaf for the up-torn weed, 

Bound with the King's own clasp. 

Wrestlings and victories and losses. 
Songs in the night-time of grief. 
Glorious gifts from the vineyard's Lord, 
Of children's voices and heart's accord. 
And the peace that passeth belief. 

Ring, then, O bell ! from thy tower. 
Our greeting of love and joy ; 
Our prayer for a blessing on these who stand 
In Love's own royalty, sweet and grand, 
A kingdom without alloy. 



130 EPITHALAMIUM. 

" Wedded and crowned," repeating. 

So ring the years away, 
Till another quarter-bell peals out, 
With glad acclaim and triumph-shout, 

The GOLDEN Wedding-Day 



.^ 



EPITHALAMIUM. 

A "GOLDEN WEDDING." 

A RICH, glad, sunny-pinioned day, 
May's beauty lingering still, 
While June's dream-splendor soft and near, 

Falls trembling o'er each hill ; 
Was any June so sweet before. 

Or any time so bright. 
As June of fifty years ago. 
Just fifty years to-night ? 

How wide that far horizon's sweep, 

How broad the flowery land. 
How every hope seemed but asleep 

To wake at slight command ; 
How flushed with all the joy of life, 

Strong, glad, and confident. 
With youth and love, twin gifts of God, 

Untried, ungrieved, unspent ! 

(131) 



132 EPITHALAMIUM. 

To-night the gates are all ajar. 

The shadowy doors unclose, 
And hosts of trooping memories 

Break through the long repose, 
Each laden with its gathered wealth 

Of lesson, gift, or grief — 
Each bearing on its silent breast 

Its own bright harvest sheaf. 

Dear, honored ones, while happy thoughts. 

Like clustering doves of peace, 
Bring to your hearts this gladdest night 

The full years' rich increase ; 
We, joyfully, would steal within 

While doors are open wide. 
And pray you let our greeting swell 

The bright, o'erflowing tide. 

And while we catch the echoing notes 

Of that far marriage chime. 
Which rings through all the varying songs 

Of all this happy time ; 
Our hearts would benediction speak 

Upon the coming years, 



EPITHALAMIUM. 133 

Wherein ye still learn love's sweet lore, 
And still share smiles and tears. 

Hand clasped in hand in holy trust, 

And heart to heart unsealed, 
May He to whose most loving view 

The future lies revealed, 
Dwell with you on those blessed heights 

In peace before unknown. 
And soften every shadow on 

" Life's changeful canvas" thrown. 

Here, then, in His sweet Beulah-land, 

Dear pilgrims, rest and pray ; 
While downward from the eternal hills 

Soft, solemn splendors stray, 
And angel voices whisper near, 

" When time this day repeats, 
At marriage supper of the Lamb 

Will be your happy seats." 



IN THE NAME OF OUR GOD WE 
WILL SET UP OUR BANNERS. 

LIFT up on the mountains, O host of the 
Lord, 
With voice of the trumpet's acclaim, 
Lift up on the mountains our banners of light. 
And girded with strength, march on to the fight 
In our Leader's victorious name. 

Bear on to the front our banner of Praise, 

In imperial purple arrayed ; 
For "glory to God in the highest" shall ring, 
As the army's grand choral to Jesus our King, 

Till all nations His own shall be made. 

And Faith's banner, pure white, unfurl to the 
breeze. 
For she marches beside us at night ; 
She leads through the desert our faltering feet. 
And sings in the darkness, her litanies sweet. 
Of deliverance, triumph, and sight. 
(134) 



IN THE NAME OF OUR GOD, 135 

Then lift up the radiant banner of Hope, 

In her symbol-color of blue ; 
For clasping Faith's hand, Hope smiles like the 

light. 
And with beautiful prophecies follows the night, 

Like sunrise after the dew. 

And Love in its passionate crimson, the Love 

That is greater than Hope or than Faith ; 
The glory and crown of the army below. 
The holiest strain that all Heaven can know. 
The grace that abzdeth in death. 

Then lift up the heart, move onward with song, 

Our victory now draweth nigh ; 
Though the enemy's legions come in like a flood, 
Our " munitions of rocks " for ages have stood* 

And God's standards are floating on high. 



THE BRIDE'S OUTFIT.* 

THE clouds hung low in the Persian sky. 
Where gathered a little band, 
In sorrow and fear this word to hear, 
From the far, free Western land : 

* That saintly and now sainted missionary, Dr. Perkins, 
of Persia, used to say that he had never seen such simple, 
tender love and faith as existed among the Nestorian Chris- 
tians. And such adoring gratitude, such heavenly uplifting 
as was manifested at their communion seasons he never ex- 
pected to enjoy again, till he sat down to the marriage supper 
of the Lamb. These characteristics of the Nestorians are 
beautifully illustrated in an incident which occurred among 
them during the great financial panic of 1857-58 in America. 
Hearing of the crisis, which crippled every one of our great 
missionary societies, compelling them to retrench on every 
side and abandon some of their missions altogether, the 
Nestorian Christians, as Dr. Coan and Dr. Robinson have 
related, "'instantly summoned an assembly to consider how 
they might act so as to bestow help the most quickly and 
with most force. The meeting was called to order by an 
aged believer, who began the conference by a distinct allu- 
sion to the costliness of their wedding ceremonies in those 
Oriental lands. He insisted that young people might be 
married in plainer costumes. 

" ' Now here,' he continued, ' is the Church, the Bride 

(136) 



THE BRIDE'S OUTFIT. 137 

" We've no more to give and no more to pledge, 
Distress and misfortune reign ; 
Men's hearts are failing them for fear, 
And the land reels with the strain. 

" Withdraw the workers from every field, 
Their books from the children take ; 
Retrench ! cut down ! remove ! disband ! 
The outposts backward stake ! " 

Tears fell like rain 'mid the little band, 
When out spoke the leader old : 
*' 'Tis the Master's work and it must not fail. 
We may have both silver and gold. 

" But we have it only if loving hearts 
Are ready for crosses and pain ; 
Behold before us the blessed way. 
If but pride and self are slain. 

" Our brides go decked for the marriage rite 
In costly and brave array, 

of our Lord Jesus Christ, and she is compelled to go unpro- 
vided for to her Master's palace ! Cannot we join hands 
to-day to give her a fair outfit ? ' 

" The figure seemed at once to arrest the imagination of 
those simple-hearted and loving Christians, and they took 
it up," as here described. 



138 THE BRIDE'S OUTFIT. 

In beauty of silver and gold and pearl, 
They shine for the joyous day. 

" But behold the Church, the Bride of our 
King, 
As she goes to His palace of light ; 
She goes in the storm, with her poor bare 
feet, 
In rags and scorn and despite. 

" Did ever a bride in such meanest array 
To so royal a husband repair ? 
Let us robe her anew, as befitteth the King, 
His Bride for His palace prepare." 

Then the loving little Nestorian band 
Caught the glowing Orient speech, 

And promise and pledge in beautiful word, 
Went quickly from each to each. 

" A ring she must have, a shining pearl ; 
It shall be my gift," said one ; 
Said another, then, " For her journey long, 
To shield her from storm and sun, 



THE BRIDE'S OUTFIT, 139 

' She will need a veil — I will cover the face 

Of this fair, sweet Bride of a King." 
Still another spoke, " But she must not walk ; 
A sure, swift steed I will bring." 

Oh, Prince's daughter," rang soft and clear, 

" How beautiful are thy feet ! 
If she rides she must have the richer shoes ; 

They shall be for her station meet." 

In a grave, sweet way, still another voice 

Took the circling symbol up ; 
The wine of the kingdom, so rich and pure, 

She shall drink from a golden cup." 

And what shall she eat on the wearisome 
way ? " 

Said the leader, questioning still ; 
The sweetest fruit of my vineyard," said one, 

" From the sunniest spot on the hill." 

Can a maiden her ornaments e'er forget ? " 
('Twas the voice of a fair young girl), 

I will give my own for this queenly Bride, 
Silver, and agate, and pearl." 



I40 THE BRIDE'S OUTFIT, 

" I have nothing to give but a poor worn mat," 
From his poverty then spake one, 

" But perhaps the Queen would step upon that 
When her long day's ride is done." 

Now, Mar Yohannan, their ruler, sat 

In silence amid them there ; 
No word had escaped him, unless, perhaps. 

He were saying an inward prayer. 

Then the leader cried, with a piercing glance 
On the royal guest cast down, 
" Who gives for this daughter of a King, 
And this Bride of a Prince, a crown ? " 

Then Mar Yohannan where he sat. 
Upraised his princely hand ; 
" Right royally, with a crown," said he, 
" Shall the Bride go through my land." 

So the clouds were cleared from the Persian 
sky. 
And the earnest Nestorian band. 
With their precious offerings thrilled the 
heart 
Of the far, free Western land. 



THE BRIDE'S OUTFIT. 141 

Where silver and gold, and wealth untold, 
Are heaped, and wasted, or stored — 

So much poured out for self and the world. 
So little for Christ the Lord. 

Ah, surely, the Prince's beautiful Bride 
Goes crownless through many a land. 

Nor ring, nor veil, nor a golden cup 
Is offered from many a hand. 

Ah, empty hands with never a gift. 

With sacrifice never the least. 
Will the King reach down full hands to you 

When He calls to the marriage feast ? 



THE INDIAN'S LAMENT. 

THE story of his wanderings far and wide. 
An aged chief told to his Indian braves ; 
Of lake and river and broad ocean tide. 
And cities' ceaseless roar of human waves ; 

Of stately dwellings, gay with light and song, 
Of churches grand, with heaven-reaching 
spire. 
Of music that could but to heaven belong, 
And broke one's heart with subtle, strange 
desire. 

But silence fell upon him, when they asked 
What sight was wonderful o'er all the rest — 

What thing between the east and western sun 
The greatest marvel seemed in all his quest. 

At last with voice that broke as if through tears, 
Yet bravely held its deep, pathetic chord, 
(142) 



THE INDIAN'S LAMENT. 143 

He spake again, yet spake as one who fears 
Accusing unbelief of all his word. 

' I went," he said, " where churches stately 

stood 
With * long - drawn aisles * and arches up- 
ward thrown. 
With carven symbol of Christ's holy rood, 
And organ in whose heart praise was in- 
grown. 

' There all my pale-faced brothers stood and 

said, 

' The Lord is in His temple— let the earth 

Keep silence.* Then a moment bowed each 

head 

Before the glorious burst of song had birth. 

Then in the Christ's dear stead one spake 
this word : 
'Come unto me — find place upon my 
breast ; 
My blood can cleanse all sin ; have ye not 
heard 
I gave my life that ye might thus find rest ? ' 



144 ^^^ INDIAN'S LAMENT. 

*' Oh, then within my heart such sorrow grew, 
I cried, * Oh, pale-faced brother, wise and 
great. 
Why, why hast thou not told us long ago 
This wondrous word — now it is late — oh, 
late! 

" * Late after all these weary, darkened years. 
Late for my people to find out such good, 
And oh, too late for those who knew but fears. 
As long ago they passed death's hopeless 
flood.'" 

And there the deep, grave voice to silence fell, 
Upon the breast dropped down the trem- 
bling head ; 
" This is the thing most wonderful to tell 
Of all I saw or heard," was all he said. 

Then shadows fell upon each dusky brow ; 
" Most wonderful they told us not more 
soon ; 
*Tis late — such news to reach us only now — 
Ah, late," they sadly said, " 'tis long past 
noon" 



THE INDIAN'S LAMENT. 145 

Within the forest shade they sat and grieved, 
None spake aught more but that one sad- 
dest word : 
' Late— late— past noon "—alas, \\i€\r brothers 
had received 
Such word so long ago—but they—iht^ 
had not heard ! 



OUR BETHLEHEM. 

SABBATH in the Hebrew temple 
Dawned with rite and sacrifice ; 
From their places, priest and psalmist 
Watched soft clouds of incense rise. 
Then the golden trumpets trembled, 

Then the cymbals clashed again, 
While the choral throng, responsive, 
Caught the high, prophetic strain. 

Unto us a Son is given, 

Unto us a child is born ! 
Sing, O earth, rejoice, O heaven. 

Now is come the promised mom. 
Christ shall now have full dominion, 

Kings shall bow before His feet. 
Gentile lands be His possession, 

Every tongue His praise repeat. 

Blessed she among all women 
Who this kingly child shall bear ; 
(146) 



OUR BETHLEHEM, 147 

Praise Him, on the sounding cymbals, 
Praise Him, earth and sea and air ! " 

From the court beyond the altar 
Broke there, then, a wailing cry, 

Where one, old and sorrow-stricken. 
Prostrate in her grief did he. 

" Woe is me," she uttered, sobbing ; 

" All the years I prayed and wept, 
Hoping that for me this glory 

Somewhere in my pathway slept. 
Hoping mine should be the Christ-child, 

Mine the blessed motherhood 
Every maid in Judah's borders 

Longed for, hoped, and understood. 

" But, alas ! the vision tarries. 

And I tremble to the grave ; 
Never mine can be the joy of 

Bearing Him who comes to save ! " 
Then again her grief o'erswept her 

Like some tempest of the night ; 
But beyond still broke the chorus, 

" Praise Him, all ye stars of light ! " 



148 OUR BETHLEHEM. 

Gone, the music and the splendor, 

Gone, long years, the nation's pride, 
Where, in fullness of the vision, 

Christ was born and crucified. 
Yet behold still comes an angel. 

Silently through all the land, 
Lily of annunciation 

Holding ever in his hand ! 

Lo, within our souls the promise 

Bums in song forever new — 
" Christ the Lord is born within you. 

Ye who my commandments do. 
Ye, my sister and my mother, 

High or low, o'er all the earth ! " 
Oh, how throbs each heart of woman 

In the mystery of that birth ! 

Blessed she who, though not'seeing, 
Yet with loyal heart believes, . 

Through this spiritual travail, 
In her soul the Christ receives. 

Yet, like that pure maiden-mother 
On the fair Judean hills. 



OUR BETHLEHEM. 149 

Each who truly bears this Saviour 
Wider prophecy fulfils. 

Each is priestess at an altar 

For the world's despairing need ; 
Each some gift may cast upon it, 

Each some sacrifice may plead. 
Fervent love, like Christ's, outpouring, 

Each the tide of sin may stem. 
Till, to every soul, a Saviour 

Makes a new, glad Bethlehem. 



THE LAST OFFERING* 

PLAINTIVE and tender the voice that 
was heard, 
Yet it sounded through all the land : 
" Now, who will go for the Lord," it cried, 
" Now, who in the breach will stand ? 

" For I am weary and full of years. 
And 'tis fit that the burden fall 
To stronger, brighter, heroic hearts 
Wherever the Lord shall call. 

" And my dark-hued children cry aloud, 
* How fast, how fast we die ; 
Oh, quickly, more quickly the Gospel send 
Where we in our darkness lie.' 

* The Rev. Dr. Albert Bushnell, for many years a mis- 
sionary in Africa, returned to this country in his old age, 
hoping to spend here the remainder of his life, but findings 
no response to his call for a younger man to take his place 
in Africa, he sailed again for his mission-field, but died on 
shipboard almost within sight of his African home. 
(150) 



THE LAST OFFERING. 151 

" Now who will go," again he cried, 

" And who in the breach will stand ? " 
Alas, alas, not a voice replied, 
Through all the heaven-blessed land ! 

Then he turned from the green and happy 
fields. 
From the graves of all his dead. 
From the longed-for rest, through years de- 
nied 
To the weary heart and head. 

And he said, " Dear Lord, I have naught to 
give, 

The years of my pilgrimage end ; 
Tired and stricken and spent am I, 

Yet none is there else to send. 

" Take me, my King, and with heavenly fire 
Touch Thou my lips once more ; 
Again for Thee, for Thee and for souls, 
I will seek that far-off shore. 

•' For heaven is near, whether here or there, 
And I shall not lose Thy smile ; 



152 THE LAST OFFERING, 

And the few more months — it matters not 
If I be weary the while. 

** And I might, perchance, win another soul, 
One last glad trophy for Thee, 
One last sweet note in my joyful song, 
When the angels shall come for me." 

So, counting gain but loss for his Lord, 

His saintly soul toiled on. 
Till the sea was passed, the journey o'er. 

And the goal was almost won. 

But nearer than even his thought, had been 
God's glorious heaven the while, 

And the gates were opened wide, almost 
In sight of his sunny isle. 

Oh, surely, the song was a threefold joy, 
On the golden streets that day. 

When this martyr-soul in a glad surprise 
Passed up the shining way. 

But loud from a lowly sacred grave 
On the shores of a far-off land. 



THE LAST OFFERING. 153 

Comes back the cry, " Who goes for the 
Lord, 
And who in the breach will stand ? " 

Oh, where are the heroes pledged to the 
King, 

To make this offering good. 
To take their lives in their zealous hands, 

And stand where he would have stood ? 

They tell a tale in " the Flowery Land," 

Among their fables so old. 
How, to Pousa the potter, an order was given 

A service of plate to mould, 

More dainty than any had ever seen, 

For his sovereign's use alone ; 
But he stood in despair before the fires 

Where his last best work was shown. 

For naught was fit for the Master's eye ; 

Yet would he some offering make ; 
Then he cast himself on the glowing coals, 

Consumed for his monarch's sake. 



154 THE LAST OFFERING. 

But lo, when they drew him forth from the 
flame, 

A wondrous burden they brought ; 
For such costly service never was seen, 

As from Pousa's self was wrought ! 

Oh, where are the glowing martyr-hearts 

Consuming at God's demand ? 
Now, who this day will go for the Lord, 

And who in the breach will stand ? 



THE MESSAGE TO THE SEVEN 
CHURCHES.* 

~OEH0LD, He cometh with clouds, 
•^-^ And they that pierced Him shall see ; 
Nor veil of tent or of temple enshrouds 
The presence no creature can flee. 

* The epistles to the seven churches, though full of poetic 
beauty on the very surface, require close and careful study 
to bring out the depth and wonderful significance of all the 
allusion and imagery employed. A merely casual reading 
gives no idea of the singular unity of all the parts, and of 
the exquisite adaptation of announcement, rebuke, praise, 
and promise to the condition of each separate church. As 
for instance, with Smyrna, the martyr-church, giving up 
life for the truth, to them is the promise of the crown of life. 
To Pergamos, holding fast truth in doctrine, but inclined to 
worldly compromise in practice, is the promise of the hid- 
den manna in place of the idol feasts — an allusion to the pot 
of manna hidden in the ark in the Holy of Holies. Ephesus 
holds the faith, but is lacking in love. Thyatira is warm and 
loving, but corrupts doctrine. To Sardis, dead with sleep, 
Christ will come as a thief in the night. And, curiously, 
Philadelphia is the missionary church, before whom is set 
the open door of the world, as reward for her constancy, and 
upon whom is written the wonderful triune name. And 
Laodicea, most sharply rebuked of all, has also the most 

(155) 



156 TO THE SEVEN CHURCHES. 

With glory now compassed about 

In sevenfold splendor of light, 
'Mid the golden lamps, moving in and out, 

Majestic He walks in His might. 

A King by the girdle's sign, 

A Priest, by the vesture, He ; 
While His voice with the might of a trumpet 
breaks 

Thro' the hush of the sunlit sea. 

And behold, at that awful word. 

In myst'ry of star and of flame. 
In solemn recital, the Church of the Lord 

Stands forth in a sevenfold name. 

Who hath ears, let him hear what He saith. 
For He cometh, the day is at hand ! 

Strengthen every defense, and endure unto 
death. 
For ev'n now at the door doth He stand ! 



tender and beautiful promises, reminding one of the parable 
of the prodigal son. 

To us, from and through these epistles, come the most 
solemn of warnings, the most appreciative of praises, and 
the most loving of promises. 



TO THE SEVEN CHURCHES. 157 

Lo, that island of vision still lies 

On the breast of the sunlit sea, 
Nor thunders now tremble, nor voices arise, 

Nor any that answer there be. 
The churches lie barren and dead 

Where the prophet their record hath sealed. 
The books have been closed and their judg- 
ment is read, 

In sentence or promise revealed. 

Yet, strangely, all down thro* the years, 

Stray echoes of long vanished strife, 
And thro' the earth's battles and sorrows and 
fears. 

Throbs the pulse of the Church's life. 
And still doth that mightiest voice 

Call singly the sevenfold name. 
O'er these to sorrow, o'er those to rejoice, 

With message of praise or of blame. 

Still martyrs in Smyrna are sealed. 
Still churches Ephesian have breath. 

Blind Laodiceans still wait to be healed. 
And Sardis lies careless in death. 



158 TO THE SEVEN CHURCHES. 

Who hath ears, let him hear, saith the Lord, 
For He cometh ; the day is at hand ! 

As of old, with the solemn surprise of His 
word, 
At the door of His Church doth He stand. 

Oh, Ephesus, faithful yet cold, 

Where art thou, at voice of thy Lord? 
l^hy patience and toil He hath tenderly told, 

And thy fearless defense of His Word. 
But alas, for thy glowing first love ! 

The grace of all graces is dim ! 
He standeth without, and His voice cannot 
move 

His Beloved to open to Him. 
Thou forsakest the gardens of old. 

Where once 'mid the lilies He fed ; 
Oh remember, return, ere thy star from His 
hold 

Shall be cast, and thy light shall be fled. 
Lo, he that hath ears, let him hear ! 

Unto him that shall thus overcome, 
Shall the gift of the lost Eden-tree reappear. 

In the glory of Paradise-bloom. 



TO THE SEVEN CHURCHES. 159 

Oh, Smyrna, sweet myrrh for thy Lord, 

The Living One calleth for thee ! 
In deep tribulation, by prison and sword. 

Thou sifted of Satan must be. 
Yet He knovveth the way thou dost take, 

Thou dove in the fowler's fell snare ; 
Accounting not dear even life, for His sake, 

Life's kingliest crown thou shalt wear. 

Thou, Pergamos, holding Christ's name, 

Where Satan hath power and throne. 
Thou keepest the faith, yet not without blame. 

The world's easy sanctions hast known. 
Repent thee, and strive for the gift 

That shall crown such recovering grace. 
The wilderness secrets, their veil shall uplift, 

Thou shalt enter the Holiest place. 
And for feasts of idolatrous ease. 

Shall be sacrament-secret of love, 
And the shining white stone, with the name of 
His peace. 

Is God's secret — all secrets above. 

Thyatira, thy service and love. 
Thy patience and faith are approved. 



i6o TO THE SEVEN CHURCHES. 

Yet thou keepest not truth as pure from 
above, 
And false teachers thou hast not removed. 
Behold, He searcheth the heart ; 

Repent and stand fast till He come ; 
Then with symbols of royalty, sceptre and 
star, 
He giveth thee power and throne. 

Oh, Sardis, dead Sardis, arise ! 

What word hath the Master for thee ? 
Consumed in the sevenfold flame of His eyes. 

Thy name and thy service shall be. 
Praised falsely of men, as alive, 

Thou art but dead refuge of lies ; 
Except thou repent and remember and strive, 

Thou shalt waken to awful surprise. 
Yet even in Sardis — oh, word 

Of surpassing and tender content — 
He hath found a few names, hidden ones of the 
Lord, 

With garments unsullied, unrent. 
Out of Sardis, ev'n Sardis, His child 

He will own in the presence divine ; 



TO THE SEVEN CHURCHES. i6i 

O'er the white robes of grace, by the world 
undefiled, 
Whitest raiment of glory shall shine. 

Behold now the Holy and True, 

Who alone hath the Paradise key, 
Thy works, Philadelphia, hath in review, 

And findeth no blemish in thee. 
Thou little one, loving and pure. 

Thou hast thy peculiar reward ; 
To thee. He hath opened the wonderful door 

That gives thee the world for thy Lord ! 

Thrice blessed and happy art thou ! 

Thine, thine is the mission most high ! 
At thy conquering feet shall God's Israel bow, 

And worship whom now they deny. 
Lo, quickly He cometh ! Hold fast 

Thy patience, thy love and thy crown ; 
When the hour of temptation shall be over- 
past. 

He shall number and gather His own. 

In that city, whose temple is God, 
They pillars of beauty shall stand ; 



1 62 TO THE SEVEN CHURCHES. 

Thro' measureless ages they safe shall abide 

In the blessed Jerusalem-land. 
And such birthright of grace to proclaim, 

On them graved of the King's very hand, 
His God's, His City's, His own new name, 

In mysterious trinity stand. 

And yet once again comes the word. 

Of solemn and chastening love. 
Oh, Laodicean, thy boast He hath heard, 

Thy works to reject and reprove. 

Thou sittest at ease, as of old, 

Complacent in riches and pride. 
Neither fervent with love, nor with enmity 
cold ; 

Thou dost thus condemnation abide. 

Poor, wretched, and naked and blind, 
He deigneth to counsel with thee ; 

Tried gold, and white raiment and vision di- 
vine 
He offers with tenderest plea. 



TO THE SEVEN CHURCHES. 163 

With infinite longing of love. 

He stoopeth to suppliant place ; 
If to open the portal, thy heart He can move, 

He will enter with Eucharist grace. 

Then glory, all glory above ! 

The saints and their Lord shall be one ! 
With her warfare accomplished, the Bride of 
His love 

Shall sit down with the Lamb on His throne ! 

And after these wonders, behold, 

" A door was opened in Heaven," 
And great alleluias of victory rolled 

Thro' the host of the much-forgiven. 
The voice of God's thunders broke forth, 

The voice of great waters swelled high, 
All kindreds and peoples, and nations and 
tongues 

Were joined in one jubilant cry ! 
Alleluia ! all blessing and praise 

Be unto the Lamb that was slain, 
For His marriage hath come, and the Bride of 
His grace 

Is faultless of blemish or stain I 



i64 TO THE SEVEN CHURCHES. 

Now glory and riches and might, 

All wisdom and blessing again ! 
Praise ye Him in the depth, praise His name 
in the height, 

Unto ages of ages, Amen ! 



HYMN. 

WRITTEN FOR THE MEETING OP THE WOMAn's FOREIGN 
MISSIONARY SOCIETY, HELD IN BALTIMORE, MAY 9, 1872. 

r I iHE whole wide world for Jesus ! 
-*- Once more before we part. 
Ring out the joyful watchword 

From every grateful heart. 
The whole wide world for Jesus I 

Be this our battle-cry, 
The lifted cross our oriflamme, 

A sign to conquer by I 

The whole wide world for Jesus ! 

From out the Golden Gate, 
Through all Pacific's sunny isles 

To China's princely state ; 
From India's vales and mountains, 

Through Persia's land of bloom. 
To storied Palestina 

And Afric's desert gloom ; 
(165) 



1 66 HYMN. 

The whole wide world for Jesus, 

Through all its fragrant zones ! 
Ring out again the watchword 

In loftiest, gladdest tones. 
The whole wide world for Jesus ! 

We'll wing the song with prayer 
And link the prayer with labor, 

Till Christ his crown shall wear. 



THE VISIT OF THE MAGI. 

IN an old Judean city, 
Years and years ago, 
Came a little Hebrew baby 
To this world of woe. 

Wise men far away were waiting, 

Looking for a King, 
Who, though bearmg Judah's sceptre. 

Peace to all should bring. 

For through sweet old Persian story. 

Through Chaldean lore. 
Through far Araby's wild legends, 

Pondered o'er and o'er, 

Ran the same dim thread prophetic, 
Which they sought to trace. 

Searching for some happy signal 
All the starry space. 

(167) 



i68 THE VISIT OF THE MAGI. 

While the very air seemed whispering 

Of this King divine, 
Suddenly across the heavens 

Streamed the wondrous sign. 

Then with joy and exultation, 

To the lands afar 
Straightway followed they the vision 

Of the herald-star. 

Spices rare and perfumes bore they, 

Offerings rich, of gold. 
Precious things and shining treasure, 

Costly and untold. 

Night by night they journeyed onward. 

Heedful not of harm ; 
Cold nor heat nor desert's dangers 

Could their hearts alarm. 

So at last, behold, fair Salem 

Glistened on its height ! 
Surely in this royal city 

He would bless their sight. 



THE VISIT OF THE MAGI. 169 

Crowned and throned, with thronging courtiers 

'Round his palace gate ; 
Surely here must dwell their sovereign, 

High in princely state. 

Eagerly they pressed and questioned : 

" Where is now your King ? 
We have seen His glorious herald ; 

Tribute here we bring." 

None made answer. Guilty Herod 

Trembled on his throne ; 
Asked the priests : " Whence saith your 
prophet 

Christ, the Lord, shall come ? " 

Then he called the eager Magi. 

"Find this child," he said ; 
" Then bring answer, that to worship 

I, too, may be led." 

And behold, as they departed, 

Shone once more the star. 
Leading to the feet of Jesus 

From their land afar. 



i7o THE VISIT OF THE MAGI. 

But no crown nor throne nor palace 

Had He there to show ; 
He was just the little baby, 

Born so long ago. 

Yet the star had brought them thither, 

Not a doubt oppressed ; 
Kneeling there, most joj^ful worship 

Every tongue expressed. 

Every hand held forth its treasure. 
Each heart gave Him throne, 

While their gold and myrrh and incense 
Crowned Him King alone. 

Thus it happened in that city 

Years and years ago ; 
This the stor}' of the wise men 

Seeking Christ to know. 

Now no city holds or hides Him, 

Now we need no star ; 
Every child may seek and find Him, 

Going not afar. 



THE VISIT OF THE MAGI jji 

Havej^ou gifts to bring, dear cliildren — 

Myrrh and spice and gold, 
Hearts of love and hands for service, 

Gifts of worth untold ? 

WiW you crown this blessed Jesus 

As your only King ? 
Give your life's glad, true devotion, 

Souls to Him to bring ? 

Seek Him then, not like the Magi, 

Wandering far and wide. 
Earth is always close to heaven 

Each sweet Christmas-tide. 



FLOWER-WALLS. 

A TRUE INCIDENT. 

i' "T~\ ARLING little girly, 
J—/ Won't she try to stand g 

Won't she, just one minute. 
Let go mamma's hand ? 

* Just the tips of fingers then— 
Now I now stand alone ! " 
Naught could tempt the fairy 
Into feats unknown. 

Out here in the garden, 
('Twas the midst of June) 

Down we stood the baby 
In this bed of bloom. 

Right amid the flowers, 

They as tall as she. 
Stood the child delighted, 

Clapped her hands in glee, 

(172) 



FLO WER- WALLS. j 73 

She thought, of course, the flowers 
Were like mother's hand — 

Strong to catch and hold her. 
So she dared to stand. 

Sense of sure protection 

Like a body-guard, 
Gave the flowers bright and tall^ 

Keeping watch and ward. 

Ah, sweet little maiden. 

Faith is such a power. 
Though it only " make believe * 

Hold thee by a flower. 

And I thought, like baby. 

We of older years 
Often lean on flowery walls. 

Letting go our fears. 

Fears that sometimes blind us 

To our noblest powers. 
Till God gently sets us down 

In some bed of flowers. 



TO MY BIBLE-CLASS. 

A FAREWELL. 

MEETING, parting, thro' the world, 
In and out we go, 
Here and there, with loving care. 
Precious seed we sow. 

Gaining, losing, day by day, 

Each impressing each, 
Not a touch but in the end 

Hath eternal reach. 

Thus my heart dwells thoughtfully 

On to-day's farewell, 
Pondering what the joy or grief, 

Eternity may tell. 

Wondering what these precious hours 

Have for each outwrought 
Of upward growth, of holy life. 

Of cor.secr;ned thought. 
(174) 



TO MY BIBLE-CLASS. 175 

Hours when Christ our loving Lord, 

Made our sweetest theme ; 
Hours when in our hearts His grace 

Seemed to reign supreme. 

When with tender, happy tears. 

Penitent and still. 
Each young heart sent up its prayer 

For moulding to His will. 

Ended now this sacred page 

In your life's fair book. 
Tell me, dear ones, now and then 

Will you backward look ? 

You whom now my love enfolds. 

Grant that love one claim — 
With these lessons from the Word, 

Ever link my name. 

That in all the years to come 

I may be to you, 
Only one whom Jesus sent, 

On your journey through, 



176 TO MY BIBLE-CLASS. 

Just to place one stepping-stone 

In the flowing tide, 
Which might help your eager feet 

Toward the heavenly side. 

Let your consecration be 

Earnest and entire ; 
Let your building-work be such 

As will bear the fire, 

Counting your most precious things 

None too dear to give 
To your loving Lord, who gave 

All that you might live. 

So life's lesson-mysteries all, 
Will grow clear and bright, 

So heaven's glad good-morning ring 
After earth's good-night. 



CONSECRATION.* 

/^H, day of solemn gladness ! 
^^ Oh, day of pledge divine ! 
Thou seemedst unto risen souls 
True resurrection sign, 

As in the sacred temple, 

The feast of love v^e kept. 
While even on the holy air 

Sweet benediction slept. 

The calm, pure Easter lilies. 

Each one a Gospel rare, 
Drooped o'er the font's rich carven grace, 

Like saintly hearts at prayer. 

♦ Written on the occasion of the celebration of the sac- 
rament of the Lord's Supper, at the First Presbyterian 
Church, Auburn, N. Y., April sth (Easter Sunday), when 
sixty-three persons, mostly young people, made public pro- 
fession of their faith. 

(177) 



1 7 8 CONSECRA TION. 

While grouped before the altar, 

An earnest, loving band, 
Gave up to God their glad young lives, 

And kept His last command. 

The pure baptismal water 

Fell like a tender rain, 
As if to wash as " white as snow " 

Sin's heavy " crimson stain." 

And with the sweet anointing. 
Each spoke on bended knee, 

The words that 'neath the lilies slept 
In blossoms — " Christ for me." 

Thus went they from the altar, 
With vow and pledge and prayer ; 

God, men, and angels, witnessing 
The consecration there. 

And through the throbbing silence 

A wondrous song awoke. 
As if upon the Crystal Sea 

The waves of gladness broke. 



CONSE CRA TION. 179 

As if the " many harpers " 

Caught up the joyous strain, 
With shout on shout of victory, 

For Him who had been slain. 



Loud chanting " Hallelujah, 

Oh, Lamb of God, to Thee ; 
For these are Thine, and Thou art theirs 

To all eternity ! " 

Oh, day of solemn gladness ! 

True Easter of the soul ! 
Apart from all life's other days 

Thou art, while days shall roll. 



ONLY FOR ONE. 

THOUGHTS, thoughts, thoughts, 
Like the restless waves of the sea. 
Wild as the storm, and sad as my song 
" O Love, come back to me ! " 

Away through the angry tempest. 

Out from the rest of home. 
Following, following evermore. 

Wherever my Love doth roam. 

For the gray old year is dying 

In the night and storm and gloom. 

And I sit alone, without my Love, 
In this dim, forsaken room. 

Where strange sounds break the silence 

In the pauses of the storm. 
And tne fire burns low, and the shadows grow, 

And only my heart is warm. 
(i8o) 



ONL Y FOR ONE. rSl 

For this same old year is dying, 
To that other, where'er he may be— 

This crowning year of the years of life. 
That gave my Love to me. 

But hark ! I hear awaking, 

An infant year in its glee — 
I will sing it a song that will make it smile 

And give back my Love to me. 

New year, 

Sweet year, 
Glad little child. 

Heaven-gained 

Unstained, 
Earth's undefiled. 

New year. 

Regal year. 
Mounting to thy throne. 

Here I kneel. 

To thee appeal — 
Send my wand'rer home. 



1 82 ONLY FOR ONE, 

New year, 

Happy year. 
Listen to my plea. 

And ere the day 

Groweth gray 
Bring my Love to me. 

Oh, the year in majesty smileth. 
Like stars shining down on the sea I 

Oh, the child-monarch showeth me kingliest 
grace, 
He bringeth my Love to me ! 



MAYING. 

HERE'S a little song, my darling, 
Written all for thee, 
Just because a happy memory 
Comes to-day to me ; 

Just because a soft, sweet picture 

Floats before my eyes, 
Which I fain would paint for thee, love, 

For to-day's surprise ; 

Just because a living poem 

Rings within my ears, 
Which I fain would set to music 

Perfect as our years. 

This, my picture and my poem, 

As in missal old, 
Writ in rare and secret letters, 

Dashed with brush of gold, 
(183) 



MA YING. 

Here it glows and speaks before thee. 

Listen now, and see 
If the glad translation answers 

To the text for thee : 

Once two lovers went a-Maying, 

On a golden day ; 
All the future's rosy brightness 

Lit the sunny way. 

Bird and tree and lake and mountain 

Offered incense up ; 
Fair May-blossoms shook their perfume 

From each trembling cup. 

Down the rocks the silvery water 

Murmurously fell, 
As if it held at heart some secret, 

Happy tale to tell. 

And these lovers, with their loving, 

Glorified each thing — 
Each took on some wondrous color, 

Painted on the wing. 



MAYING. 185 

Oh, such vows, such looks, such kisses ! 

Every bird that flew, 
Straightway to his mate repeated 

Every word he knew. 

All the flowers smiled and nodded — 

They knew what it meant ; 
With their lover's ardent glances 

Warmly on them bent. 

E'en the monarchs of the forest 

Stirred from winter's dream. 
When a little golden circlet 

Somehow flashed between. 

Slipping to its place, was sealed there 

By a lover's kiss ! 
E'en the very lake broke, dimpling, 

Into mirth at this. 

Came the lovers home from Maying— 

That was years ago ; 
Tell me, sweetest lover living, 

Went'st thou Maying j^/ 



1 86 MAYING. 

Oh, that time of dear remembrance ! 

Oh, rare-tinted day ! 
Sweetheart, come, we'll go a-Maying, 

Like that other May ! 



REVERY. 

COOL and fragrant and soft the air 
That blows from the border-land 
Where memory dwells 'twixt the world of 
dreams, 
And the world wherein I stand. 

A wind-harp, trembling through all its strings. 

Sways in that mystic air ; 
Sweet "songs without words," in lingering 
strains. 

Steal over those fields so fair. 

Sparkling or tender, joyous or grave. 

They carry but one dear name ; 
The undertone, thrilling through all their 
chords. 
Forever and ever the same. 

(187) 



1 88 RE VERY. 

For far away in that dim sweet land, 

With memory lying between, 
In the world of dreams I knew him first, 

My Prince of the royal mien. 

Though memory saith a time was once 

Where he did not belong, 
That world of dream, past memory's ken, 

Hath held him in story and song. 

And to-night the path is radiant and clear. 

Far over the border-land, 
From the farthest verge of the world of 
dreams, 

To the world wherein I stand. 

All its brightness is bright with him. 

All its songs are of love. 
And fancy bridges that inch of time 

Wherein he did not move. 

The air that blows from that border-land — 
'Tis but breath of thine, my sweet, 

And the harp is this answering heart of mine, 
Trembling with love's repeat. 



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